


Avengers Drabbles

by SmartassUndertheMountain



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Cuddling, Dad!Steve, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Injuries, Multi, NSFW (chapters marked), Nightmares, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Reader Insert, Sexual Themes, Suggestive Themes, avenger!reader, gender neutral reader, mentions of bullying, mentions of depression, reader being a mom, some sadness with happy endings, vigilante!reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2018-07-18 04:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 44,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7299085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmartassUndertheMountain/pseuds/SmartassUndertheMountain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mostly fluffy drabbles for Marvel characters (mainly our friendly neighborhood Spider-man at the moment).<br/>Tags will be updated as necessary.</p><p>Also posted on tumblr @soimwritingstuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peter Parker - I Don't Wanna Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't wanna move; you're too comfy."

         Rainy days in spring are common. “April showers bring May flowers.” You must have recited that a hundred times in kindergarten, but it still reigned true. Today you were enjoying the thunderstorm with a classic aesthetic. The windows were cracked open to let in the fresh air the rain brought and fill the apartment with the soothing sound of pattering rain, two mix matched mugs sat on coasters on the coffee table, steam rising. Tea in one, hot chocolate in the other, limbs tangled on the couch as you cuddled with your boyfriend.

         Peter was on his back, pillows piled behind him. You were on your stomach on top of him, head resting on his chest, book in one hand, the other playing with the collar of his shirt. His right arm was resting on the back of the couch, holding his book where he could see above your head. Honestly, the position had been uncomfortable for him for a while, but you looked so cute that he didn’t want to make you move, until his right arm fell asleep and he thought he was going to drop his book on your head.

         “Can I shift a little? Arm’s falling asleep.”

         “As long as I don’t have to move too much.”

         “Just shimmy down a little?”

         “Peter Parker, you naughty bird.”

         “Not what I - get your head out of the gutter!”

         You giggled at his exasperated sigh as you moved down so you were resting on his stomach. His arms moved so his elbows were resting on you shoulders, holding his book up. His knees were bent, bracketing your hips. His stomach, though definitely muscular, was much softer than his chest because no ribs were cutting into your jaw. Your free arm was tucked against his side, drawing little patterns on his skin where his shirt had gotten pushed up with your wiggling.

         With the exception of occasionally slight jostling so one of you could sip your hot beverages, you stayed content like that for a long while. Eventually, he gave up on reading and just held you, fingers stroking through your hair. You, on the other hand, were completely lost in the pages of your book, barely registering the soft tug of Peter’s hands playing with your hair, or occasionally drawing patterns on your back and shoulders.

        

 

**Peter’s POV**

         “Y/N?”

         She didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. I bet she didn’t even hear me. Gosh, she looks so cute like this, but I really need her to move. She’s lying on my bladder and that hot chocolate is moving right through me.

         “Y/N? Sweetie?”

         Still nothing. She’s going to hate me for this.

 

**Second Person**

         Peter’s hand pushed your book down so you would look up at him, prompting the inevitable “hey! What’s the big idea?” as you reluctantly set your book on the coffee table.

         “I need to get up.”

         “No, you don’t.”

         “Y/N, seriously. I need to use the bathroom and you’re laying right on my bladder.”

         “Okay.” Your voice remained neutral as you made no sign of moving.

         “In order for me to get up, you have to get up first.”

         “I don’t wanna get up; you’re too comfy.” You wrapped your arms around his waist and buried your face into his stomach.

         “I’ll be your human pillow for as long as you want, after you let me up. I promise.”

         You glanced up, only your eyes visible, eyebrows raised in hope. “Cuddles for the rest of the day?”

         He nodded, a small grin on his face. “Cuddles for the rest of the day.”

         “Oh, alright. But you’re making me a fresh cup of tea while you’re up.”

         “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

         You pushed yourself off your human pillow, careful not to put any unnecessary pressure on his bladder, and stood to let him up.

         He stood and gave you a quick peck on the lips. “You’re the best.”

         “Because I let you get up to pee?” You asked as he walked down the hall to the bathroom.

         “No. Because you actually want to cuddle with me.” He said, just before the door shut.

         You let out a soft giggle, hands coming up to hide your face as you felt your cheeks begin to heat up. You let yourself fall onto the couch, grinning like a fool because damn it, Peter Parker always knew just what to say, and you knew that it was always the truth.


	2. Peter Parker - What's in Your Pocket?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is there something in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a lot longer than I meant for it to be... oops.

          “Are you keeping your wrist straight?” You were panting a little. You could feel where he had hit you in the shoulder, but it wasn’t enough to knock you off balance, and that was supposed to be the goal.

         “Yes.” You could hear the control in his voice. He wasn’t tired, no matter what the sweat on his face and arms said. He still had a lot in him. He needed to be riled up if he was going to challenge himself or you. And you needed to be challenged to get anything out of a workout.

         “Then why are your punches so weak, Parker? Come on. I’m a big bad guy out to steal your girl. Stop me.”

         “My girl?”

         “Just go with it?”

         “How can you steal yourself?”

         “Peter, you’ve got to stop saying stuff like that, eventually someone’s going to think we’re actually dating. Now come on and hit me like I know you can.”

         “I just don’t want to hurt you.” He was taunting you, goading you, but there was sincerity in his eyes.

         “You think you could?” You scoffed at the idea even though you knew he could. His enhancement gave him an insane amount of strength hidden in his lean body.

         “You bet I could.”

         “Without using your shooters?” He’d been relying on them too much, and you wanted to see what he could do without them, if he ran out of webbing, if they broke, or got jammed.

         “Yep. I have the speed and agility.”

         “I have the training.”

         “Then let the best man win.” He winked at you and you laughed, shaking your head.

         “I think you mean wo-man.”

         He chuckled as he lunged at you, barely missing your face as you ducked. You advanced aiming to kick him in the gut and wind him, but true to his word, agility was on his side. His spider sense probably helped him, too. You’d have to do something surprising. As his punches came at you right and left, unrelenting, you tried to put distance between you. When you finally managed, you took a running leap and wrapped your legs around his torso, pinning one arm to his body, the momentum bringing you both to the ground, you on top. The boy was a wiggling mess trying to break your hold, but your legs were your strongest body part, if any of you could hold him, it was your legs.

         “Give up yet, Parker?”

         “Never.” His free arm reached up and tickled your side, unorthodox, but fair enough. Your body jerked, legs loosening, and with one swift move, using your surprise to his advantage, he had you pinned beneath him. His hands wrapped around your wrists, one of his knees planted between yours, most of his weight holding you to the ground, and fuck if it didn’t do something for you. At that moment you weren’t thinking about how you were about to have to eat your words about Peter not being able to beat you, because you just really thankful it wasn’t as obvious when you were turned on; “thank goodness for vaginas” was playing through your head on loop.

         “Surrender?”

         “Yes, I accept your surrender. Shall we celebrate with ice cream?”

         “Y/N, you’re pinned, and we both know that you can’t break my hold. Surrender, and I’ll spare your army.”

         It was a fight not to laugh at his outrageous sense of humor. “When did you get so cocky?”

         “Since I became awesome.”

         “I repeat, when did you become so cocky?”

         He pressed himself harder against you. “Just give up. I told my aunt you were staying for dinner, and May will be pissed if we’re late again.”

         “Ugh, fine. I give.”

         “Thank you. Let’s hit the showers. We need to leave in like twenty minutes.”

        

         Fifteen minutes later you were leaning against the wall, playing on your phone, waiting for Peter to hurry the hell up. Wasn’t the stereotype that women took longer? In your experience it had always been the opposite. He finally came out with two minutes to spare for catching the bus on time.

         You were on time for dinner with May, who was very happy that you were on time and all clean and nice smelling rather than sweaty and stinky like normal. After spaghetti and meatballs were consumed and you and Peter had done the dishes, May went to her room to read while you and Peter relaxed in front of the tv, whispering about how you could each improve your respective fighting methods.

         “The thigh thing you did was amazing, but you left my other arm free to get you. If I’d had a gun, you’d be dead.”

         “You pull your punches in the beginning, every time. I know you say it’s because you don’t want to hurt me, but you play like you practice. Stop pulling punches. If I can’t take it, I’ll tell you. But believe me, I can take anything you can throw at me.”

         “Is that so?”

         “Absolutely.”

         “Then how about this?” He grabbed you quickly, pushing you face first in the couch, wrists gathered in one of his hands behind your back, while he messed up your hair.

         “Peter! Stop!”

         “I thought you could take anything I could throw at you?” His voice held a childish glee that you never got to hear from the ever-responsible Peter Parker.

         “Peeeteeer.”

         “Alright.” He released you and you immediately turned and pinned him to couch on his back.

         “Pinned ya, again.”

         “Okay, Nala. Let up.” He chuckled awkwardly, trying to push your stubborn body off of his.

         “I love that you get my Disney references, but I think I like this." You settled yourself down, completely intending to use your best friend as a human pillow, when you noticed something hard in Peter’s pocket. But his phone was on the coffee table next to yours. _Ooohhh._ You didn’t think he could feel that way for you, and it would be a lie to say it wasn’t flattering, but also it felt really weird to think that a guy getting a hard on for you was flattering.

         “So, Peter?”

         “Um, yeah?”

         “Is there something in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

         “Shit, I - uh, um - Oh God this is embarrassing.”

         You moved off of him and he quickly sat up, body curling a bit. you looked away for a second and then back at him. It was really awkward, but it had to be worse for him at the moment.

         “You know, it’s, um, it’s not a big deal. We’re teenagers. It happens.”

         “This doesn’t really happen to you though.”

         “Well, I don’t have the parts you have, so you just can’t really tell when it does.”

         “When it does?”

         “I meant if. If it does happen.”

         “No. You said when.” He looked a mix of confused and smug. Like he knew what was going on, but didn’t really want to believe it until you actually said it. “Y/N, have I - Have I turned you on before?”

         You refused to look at him. The hem of your shirt suddenly seemed very interesting.

         “Y/N, look at me. Please.”

         You glanced up. The smug look was mostly gone. Mostly. And now curiosity burned in his brown eyes. He leaned closer to you, a hand reaching out hesitantly, pausing a couple times in case you wanted to push him away. His knuckles trailed a line up your arm, causing your arm hair to stand on end. You watched his hand move, eyes staying locked on the invisible trail his touch left behind, even after his hand was resting neutrally on the couch once again.

         “Y/N?”

         “Yeah?”

         He waited until you were looking at him before he continued. “I really like you, in a not platonic friends way.”

         “I like you that way too.”

         “Really?”

         “Yes, doofus.”

         If a smile could save lives, the smile he gave you when you said that could save the entire world. It was bright and spread across his entire face, and made his eyes twinkle even in the dim glow of the tv.

         “So, um, does this mean I can kiss you?”

         “Think you can keep yourself under control?” You gave a cheeky glance down towards his crotch before glancing back up at his eyes, biting your lower lip hard to keep from laughing.

         “As much as you can.”

         “Then we’re doomed.”


	3. Peter Parker - Marry Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Marry Me"

**Sixteen Years Old**

         “Peter! Stop cheating!”

         “I’m not cheating, you’re just really bad at checkers.”

         “I am the queen of checkers, I’ll have you know.”

         Peter rolled his eyes, but when Y/N turned to grab her drink he smiled softly.

         “Alright, kids, play nicely or I’ll sit you in separate corners.” May wagged a finger, laughing. “I’ve got to go to the store, will you be alright here?”

         “We’re sixteen, Aunt May, I think we can handle ourselves for a little while.”

         “I meant, can you not kill each other while I’m out? I don’t want to have to clean my nephew’s blood off the walls.”

         “I wouldn’t leave a mess for you to clean, May.” You looked over at Peter and winked. “It’d be something like poison. Made to look like an extreme allergic reaction or something. No muss, no fuss.”

         “Why am I the one getting killed in this scenario? Should I be worried?”

         “Bye, kids.” May waved over her shoulder, grabbing her jacket and purse from the hook behind the door before walking out the door. She stopped once the door was closed, putting her jacket on, listening to the teenagers’ muffled arguments.

         “Okay, there’s no way that move was legit!” Peter’s voice squeaked a little on the last word.

         “It totally was! Don’t be mad just because I have the upper hand now!”

         “I’m not! You just don’t know how to play.”

         “You know, air injected into the blood stream via syringe is a nearly undetectable way to kill someone?”

         “Why do you know that!?”

         She shook her head, smile on her face, as she walked towards the elevator. “Those two are going to take forever to realize it.”

 

**Nineteen Years Old**

         You and Peter were relaxing in your dorm room. You were lucky enough to not have a roommate, so the spare bed always had linens on it for when Peter needed to crash - his roommate had a lot of dates go well. It was nearing three in the morning and neither of you were even close to be sleepy. You had been on your respective beds, but he had decided he wanted to cuddle, and managed to squeeze himself onto your twin mattress with you, arms locked around your waist, head resting on your stomach.

         “What do you think we’ll be like when we’re old?” You played with his hair.

         “Define old.”

         “Eighty.”

         “Wrinkly.”

         “Peter! I’m serious.” You laughed, smacking his head gently. “Do you think we’ll still be in the city? Still be friends? What if we’re in the same nursing home?”

         “If we’re in the same nursing home, then I feel bad for those nurses. Putting up with one of us is bad enough. They don’t deserve us both.”

         “True.” You let the silence surround you for a moment before you spoke up again. “Do you ever wonder if you’ll be alone? In the end? When you’re old and just want someone to remember you?”

         “Sometimes, but I figure if nothing else, I can always bother you.”

         “I’ll always be here for you to annoy.”

         “Y/N?”

         “Hmm?”

         “Marry me?”

         “What?”

         “I’m serious,” he sat up and crawled up so he was lying on his side next to you, “if we’re both still single when we’re fifty, let’s get married?”

         “So, you’re proposing way in advance, just in case?”

         “Why not?”

         “Alright, Peter. If we’re both single when we’re fifty, I’ll marry you. But I don’t want a big ring. And I don’t want a real stone. Cubic zirconia looks just as good, and that money can be better spent on rent, or ice cream, or a puppy.”

 

**Twenty-One Years Old**

         Peter was helping you move into your new apartment. A small one bedroom, one bathroom, with a tiny kitchen and almost non-existent living room, but the laundry room in the basement was free and the location was close to your job, so it wasn’t really all that bad.

         The only complaint Peter had upon seeing the place when you first unlocked it and carried in the first armload was “where am I going to sleep when I crash here?”

         To which you gently reminded him “Peter, sweetie, we’ve been dating for three months, I’m pretty sure you can sleep in my bed, with me.”

         “Oh, yeah. I get to do that now.” He smile was so genuinely adorable and excited, and his eyes lit up so brightly, that it didn’t occur to you until a couple hours later that Peter’s statement implied he forgot you were dating. You asked him about it as you were unpacking the last few major boxes - there were still a few left to move the next day from your parent’s place.

         “Do you really forget we’re dating?”

         “No, I just forget some of the perks that go with it. Like getting to share your bed.”

         “It sounds dirty when you say it like that.”

         “I was kind of hoping it could be?”

         “Is that your way of telling me you like us to be more physical in our relationship?”

         “Yes?”

         “Find a better way to say it, and we’ll talk.” You winked and turned to walk away.

         “Wait, really?” He nearly dropped the box he was carrying as he watched you walk into the bedroom with an armload of stuff. “Y/N? Were you serious?”

 

**Twenty-Five Years Old**

         You were still living in your tiny apartment, but you had a better job and were thinking about moving somewhere a little nicer, now that you could afford it. Peter was sitting next to you, cross-legged on the floor, eating Chinese takeout, helping you look for apartments in the same neighbourhood.

         “If I could get into that building just down the street, that would be great. I love how close this place is to the store, and work. I’d rather not move than sacrifice location, you know?”

         “I agree. What about this one? It’s one street over, but it looks really nice. Wouldn’t add more than five minutes to your commute.”

         “It’s really nice, Peter, but too nice. I can’t afford that.”

         “We could.”

         “What are you suggesting?”

         “Just look at the pictures. Can’t you see us living there? Master bedroom, attached bath, a guest room for May, or your niece and nephew. And it allows pets. We could get a puppy. Plus, look at that entryway. That’s the entryway I want to carry you over.”

         “Carry me over?”

         “Well, yeah. It’s tradition for the groom to carry his new bride over the threshold of their home, isn’t it?” He stood up and offered you his hand. You took it and he helped you stand, guiding you to sit on the couch. He pulled a small black box out of his pants pocket.

         “Peter, are you…?”

         “Y/N,” he went down on one knee and your heart leapt in your chest, “I have loved you for a long time, and I can’t imagine my life without you, so,” he opened the box to reveal a gorgeous ring, but you barely glanced at it, “marry me?”

         You nodded violently, sliding off the couch and onto your knees in front of him, wrapping your arms around his neck while whispering, “yes, yes, a thousand times yes,” into his ear.

         Peter felt his heart soar. He hugged you back and nuzzled his face into your neck, placing small delicate kisses to your sensitive skin.

         “You make me so happy, Y/N. The happiest man alive. But you know what would make me happier?”

         You pulled back a little so you could look at him. “What?”

         “Getting to put this on your finger, so that the rest of the world knows that you said ‘yes’ to me.”

         “Oh, right. Absolutely.” You held out your left and he slid the ring onto your finger. It was dainty and fit just right. He lifted it up and placed a kiss on your knuckles.

         “It’s not too big, I hope. And it’s cubic zirconia, like you said you wanted. I figure that money can go towards rent on this place?” He jerked his head in the direction of his laptop, where the apartment listing was still pulled up.

         “You remembered? That was like, six years ago, and we weren’t even dating then.”

         “Yeah, but I knew from the moment you told me you could kill me with an air bubble in my bloodstream that I’d marry you.”

         “Love at first death threat?”

         “Something like that.” He smiled and leaned in, letting you finish closing the gap, to kiss you. He lips were soft and firm and you realized that you would get to feel them for the rest of your life.


	4. Peter Parker - Whirring Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can practically hear your mind whirring from all the way over here. What are you thinking so hard about?”

            “I thought the participle was the other thing?” Pointing with your pencil you indicated the ‘other thing,’ tapping the eraser against the paper when Peter didn’t respond quickly enough.

            “No, I’m pretty sure she said it was the,” you heard paper rustling and looked up from you spot on the living room, comfortably perched on a large cushion, back resting against the couch, while Peter was using the couch as it was intended, and hunched over to reach the coffee table. “… wait, hang on, no, shit. I threw away those notes because I was mad.”

            “Peter Parker threw away notes because he had a hissy fit? Well, I never expected that to happen.”

            “It was a rough day.”

            “Awww,” you put on your sarcastic voice and pouted out your bottom lip, “you poor baby.” You leaned over to stroke his hair, crumpling some of your notes in the process. He gently shoved your hand away and stuck out his tongue. “Be that way. How about we just google it later? I think we need a study break. Parts of speech and grammar are boring anyway.”

            “It’s like half of the test though.”

            “And we won’t learn it if we don’t rest our minds. People learn best in 20 minute increments.”

            “And where did you hear that?”

            “Mr. Rasputio, the AP European History teacher.”

            “Alright, a short break.” He closed his notebook and leaned back against the couch. You pushed your books under the coffee table and moved up to the couch, laying your head on his stomach, legs dangling over the arm of the couch. His hand came down automatically to play with your hair, and your eyes fell closed as his fingers played with it, scratching your scalp lightly.

            You heard Peter take in a breath, as though he was about to speak, but no words came out. You tilted your head ever so slightly to glance at him. His brow was furrowed, thinking over just exactly what he wanted to say. You were used to these pauses, they happened often enough because he knew that sometimes what he wanted today didn’t come out quite right. You relaxed and waited.

            “You know, I used to want a dog. I would ask Aunt May and Uncle Ben all the time ‘can we get a dog? I promise I’ll take care of him.’ Never worked though. Apparently the landlord ups the rent a little if you’ve got pets - I’m not actually sure if that’s legal - but I always wanted a dog so I could pet it and cuddle with it, cause I used to get lonely.”

            “Oh, Peter, I never knew that. I’m sorry.” Cracking an eye open you craned your neck to look at his face, He was looking down at you, a small smile in place.

            “No, it’s fine. I was just thinking about it, because now I don’t need a dog. I’ve got you.”

            You held back a chuckle and tried not to be offended. “I’m being compared to a dog, and while dogs are wonderful, that isn’t the smartest comparison to make, Parker.”

            You could almost hear him wince. “I meant that… you know, you let me play with your hair, which made me think of petting dogs, because your hair’s all soft like some dog fur, like huskies, you know? And I never feel lonely anymore because I know you’re just a text away.”

            It had never occurred to you before that Peter thought so highly of your friendship. You certainly valued it a lot, but you didn’t think he thought of it the same way. “That’s probably the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard, minus the dog comparison.” You sat up to look at him properly. “You know, with a little tweaking, you could really woo a girl with that kind of talk.”

            “Uh huh.” A faint pink spread across his cheeks, and he looked down at his lap to hide it, unsuccessfully. _Oh, hello, what little secrets have you been hiding from me?_

            “Peter?”

            “Mmhm?”

            “Do you like anyone?”

            “No?”

            “That was a question.”

            “No, it wasn’t! But, what if I did like someone, what would it matter?”

            “I’m your friend, and I wanna know. Come on, Peter!” With a playful shove, you got up on your knees and poked his shoulder, whispering “tell me, tell me, tell me,” over and over until you heard a defeated sigh.r

            “It’s no one, alright.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s just this girl I’ve known for a while, and she’s nice, and smart, and funny, and pretty.”

            “Okay, that only means they identify as female. That doesn’t actually tell me anything.”

            “Well, I don’t know what you want from me.”

            “A name would be great.”

            “Only if you tell me the name of whatever guy you’ve been crushing on.”

            “Um, say what now? I don’t like guys our age. It’s middle-aged celebrities or nothing for me, thank you.”

            “Really? Then why are ‘the girls’ always giggling behind their hands while you’re blushing at lunch?” He cocked an eyebrow, feeling very successful.

            “Uh, because they’re teasing me about… um… my bra…size…?” you winced and squeezed your eyes shut as you said it, knowing that he would never buy it, and that you had just brought up something that you really didn’t want to bring up ever.

            Peter tried very hard not to glance down at your chest, but when boobs are mentioned, the brain just kind of makes the eyes look without one’s permission. Like a train wreck - but prettier.

            “Um, try again.”

            “It doesn’t matter. He’ll never like me back because I’m not his type, so I might as well just get over it.” Daring to look back up at your friend you saw his eyebrows furrowed, chin resting on his fist, eyes studying you carefully. After a few too many seconds of silence, you couldn’t handle it. “I can practically hear your mind whirring from all the way over here. What are you thinking so hard about?”

            “What kind of idiot wouldn’t like you? You’re everyone’s type. You’re kind and, and, and, smart, and you make people laugh, and being very vain, you’re, uh,” his open palm gestured towards your face, “you’re… quite… nice looking. And if you aren’t his type then he doesn’t deserve you.”

            _Strange, those compliments parallel what he said about his crush. He wouldn’t… he couldn’t… could he? Is it a long shot? Those are vague character traits that a lot of people have…_

            “Thanks, Peter. What about your girl? Why aren’t you making a move?”

            “Well, you know, I’m… me. I’m the friend, not the boyfriend. My voice still squeaks sometimes, and no girl wants to date a twig.”

            “If she cares about that then I don’t think she’s worth your time. Besides, your voice doesn’t squeak _that much_ anymore. And you aren’t a twig. There’s uh - you’ve got some,” your hand waved in front of his arms and torso, “you um, you’ve got the lean muscular build, and I have it on good authority that a lot of girls like that.”

            “Yeah right. I’ve seen you oogle celebrities, you love the buff ones.”

            “Okay, first off, Orlando Bloom is more lean, so is Matthew Gubler, and Andrew Garfield, and Tom Felton - the list goes on and on. Secondly, everyone knows that celebrity standards are unrealistic and not even they look like that. It’s a lot of cgi, photoshop, make-up, and carefully planned wardrobes. The lean look is a really good look.”

            “Are you saying you think I look good?” His eyebrow was quirked, and his lips pulled upward ever so slightly.

            “I mean, the lean look is very nice, and you’ve got that going on, so uh, yeah.”

            “I think you look good, too.”

            “Oh, um-“

            “And, actually, I like you. Like, really like you. And I keep trying to tell you, but I keep chickening out. Or calling you a dog by accident. Sorry about that.”

            “Really? Honestly?”

            “This isn’t something would lie about.”

            “I really like you, too.”

            “That’s great. Really great.”

            “Yeah.”

            “So, uh, you wanna go out sometime? Maybe Friday? There’s this awesome pizza place I think you’d like. If you like that sort of thing. If not we can do something else.” He was speaking quickly and definitely over thinking it.

            “Peter,” you held your hands up to get him to slow down, “I’d love that.”

            “Awesome.”

            You smiled widely and it your lip. “Alright, dork, let’s get back to work. You’ll cancel to do homework if we don’t finish up tonight.”

            “Shut up, nerd.”


	5. Peter Parker - The Good and The Questionable (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request - “Hi! I was wondering if you could do a Peter Parker one-shot of the reader being this super cool badass villain that fights against Spidey on occasion and her telling him out of nowhere and stuff, and weeks later she finds out he's Spidey and she feels betrayed because he didn't tell her he was Spidey when she told him?”  
> Edits: Reader is more of an anti-hero than villain (think less deadly teenage Punisher, maybe?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 2

            “You can’t keep doing this. Innocent people can get hurt.” The blue and red suited hero paced back and forth on the low rooftop. If it were daytime anyone could have seen you, but this late at night no one ever bothered to look up.

            “The ends justify the means, Spidey.” You sat down and took off your jacket, using the light next to the roof access door to examine a long, but thankfully not very deep, gash on your arm. That was going to be hard to hide at school. Stitching up your jacket was going to be the most annoying part though.

            “No, they don’t!” He turned sharply to look at you. He shook his head and made his way to your side. “Not when good people get caught in the crossfire, that’s called a tragedy, and we’re supposed to prevent those.”

            “So you were really willing to let that creep just get away? And attack someone else? The Punisher would have just killed him on the spot. I was going to hold him until the police came. I’d have _thought_ you would be on my side.”

            “My job is protecting the people.” He applied two thin layers of webbing to your arm to stop the bleeding; you gave him a nod of appreciation. “If I can keep a bad guy subdued until the police arrive, great, but if not, then my priority is the civilians.”

            “That’s where we differ. You’re all about keeping people safe in the now. I keep them safe in the future. That should make us a good team, if you weren’t such a cry baby.”

            “Alright, Themis, that’s enough. Call me a crybaby all you want, but that man nearly died because you just couldn’t stop, could you? Is it really about protecting the people? Or is it about your own ego? Always gotta get your perp.”

            “Don’t act all self-righteous with me, Spider-man. Everyone knows how much you care about your good guy image. I do care about the people. A hell of a lot. It isn’t my fault that you don’t seem to understand that.”

            “It’s hard to see when you’re willing to let people get hurt in order to get the bad guy.”

            “A flesh wound while I get the guy rather than him killing who knows how many people later? Yeah, I’d say the math works out. The needs of the many out weigh the needs of the few, don’t they?”

            “You can’t use that to justify being so reckless with someone else’s life.”

            You sighed, knowing you weren’t going to win this argument tonight. You were tired, the adrenaline rush was gone, your arm was throbbing, and you still had to make it home unnoticed. “I’m going home, Spidey. We can argue about this later. Get home safe.”

            “You, too, Themis.”

            You turned and walked towards the fire escape, while he swung off into the night. Once he was out of sight, you huddled down behind the roof access jut-out to dismantle your costume. The gloves, mask, hat, and jacket went into your bag, now turned inside out to display a grey colour rather than the black it had been- thank goodness for reversibles. You pulled out your hoodie and reading glasses, slipped your phone and keys in your pocket, and descended the fire escape, hoping to catch the next train.

 

 

            You glanced around you to make sure no one was looking, half hiding behind your locker door, before pulling up your sleeve to check your arm. You’d bought a big pack of Band-Aids on your way home the night before, different neon colours - it was on sale, not subtle, but it wasn’t as if Band-Aids ever really blended in on you anyway. You had several placed strategically on the worst parts to make sure it stayed closed, the other parts you had to keep checking to make sure they didn’t start bleeding. So far, so good.

            “Hey, Y/N, what’s up?”

            You pulled your sleeve into place so quickly that you hit your elbow on the edge of your locker, jarring your funny bone. “Ow! Nothing, what’s up with you, Peter?”

            “Wanted to see if you were still coming over for the 007 marathon this weekend? Aunt May’s really excited that someone other than me and her are so into it.”

            “Oh, yeah. What time?” Shit, you forgot about that. Oh well, even vigilantes were allowed to have a personal life, right?

            “Anytime on Friday. May gets off work at five-thirty, but you could come over after school, if you wanted.”

            “Yeah, sure. That sounds great. What do I need to bring? Popcorn? Ice cream?”

            “Um, I think we’ve got tons of popcorn, and May’s planning on ordering pizza.”

            “I’ll cover the chocolate.” You smiled and pulled out a pen to scribble a note on the palm of your hand to get some on the way home. You should probably pick up some more Band-Aids while you were at it. Maybe some gauze? And Ace bandages…

 

 

            “Themis! Stop! I have this under control.”

            You threw another punch, merciless in how you took down the guy much taller than yourself. “Really, because you look outnumbered to me! Come on, accept my help so we can finish this up. I have plans this evening, not that you would know what those are.” You brought another to his knees, and with kick to the head, knocked him out cold. You had already shot Peter a quick text telling him that you were helping your Mom finish up some chores and would be on your way shortly, and you were really looking forward to your 007 Marathon. It would be a shame to disappoint May.

            “I have plans, too, you know. But doing this right is worth the time.”

            “You know ‘right’ and ‘fast’ are not mutually exclusive,” you yelled over your shoulder, before quietly singing to yourself, “Elbow to the throat, knee the crotch, spin him around, and knee to the spine,” as you took out another goon. How were so many guys robbing one jewelry store? They seemed endless, but as you looked around there were only two more, one holding a gun to a bystander’s head, and one Spider-man, trying to save the day.

            You took care of the gun-less goon while your spandex-ed counterpart tried to negotiate with the guy holding a gun to someone’s head. As if he deserved to be reasoned with. With Spider-man as a distraction, you quietly moved behind him, jumped, and brought your elbow down on his neck.

            What you didn’t count on was him shooting before he lost consciousness. He’d turned at the last second as he was falling, the bullet grazing your side. Unfortunately that wasn’t the only shot he popped off. Another hit the hostage in the leg. Spider-man webbed the would-be thief’s arms to the ground, and was going to help the hostage, but saw the paramedics - they could do more than he could, so he grabbed you and swung away, this time to a deserted alley.

            “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?”

            “I WAS THINKING ‘INCAPACITATE THE MAN WITH THE GUN,’ OR IS THAT BEYOND YOU?”

            “You could have gotten that person killed. You could have gotten me or yourself killed.”

            “ _But I didn’t._ I’ll be more careful about it next time, _Dad_ , alright? Besides, two small bullet wounds isn’t exactly what I call a failure.”

            “Two?”

            You looked down you your left side, pulled your hand away, and let him see the blood on your fingers, hidden by the black of your jacket. You were just going to have to get a new one this time. That was going to cut into your already limited budget.

            “This is why you need to stop just running into things so recklessly,” he said in full suburban-dad lecture voice, while pulling at your clothes.

            You smacked his hands away, and he let them fall to his sides. “And just what do you think you’re doing?”

            “I need to see your side so I can decide if we need to get you to the hospital.”

            “It’s a graze,” you said calmly as you unzipped your jacket and pulled up your tank top just enough to reveal the wound, “and you don’t make decisions for me. I like you, Spidey, but you hold no authority over me.”

            He bent down to look at it more carefully, hands pressing against the skin near it. You hissed in pain. It already burned, and you could feel the throbbing begin. He looked up at you and you wished you could see his eyes to know exactly what he was thinking at the moment. He webbed your wound with several thick layers of webbing. He ran a gloved hand gently over his work to check that it was on securely before standing.

            “That should last either until you shower or like, early morning, but I wouldn’t sleep on white sheets, just in case.”

            “My sheets are black, like my heart.”

            “Funny. You need to stop doing this. Bruises and scratches are to be expected, but getting shot because you just had to rush in? It’s stupid, and it’s going to get someone hurt worse than a small graze one of these days.”

            “Stop doing what? Ending fights sooner? Getting the bad guy?”

            “Charging in like a rampaging bull. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, you know.”

            “You’re saying I’m going to Hell?”

            “It’s a metaphor. You’re trying to do good, but you’re hurting people in the process. Including yourself.”

            You chuckled humourlessly. He was just _too good_ to get it. You shifted your bag on your shoulder and pushed away from him. “It almost sounds like you care, Spidey. Thanks for patching me up. Have a fun weekend. Hope I don’t have a reason to see you.”


	6. Peter Parker - The Good and The Questionable (2/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of The Good and The Questionable

            May had just gotten home from work when you knocked on the door. You’d managed to find time to change into yoga pants, a dark tank top, and an oversized sweatshirt, adding a thick layer of gauze overtop of the webbing, and downing some painkillers.

            “Hey, May! I brought tons of chocolate, since Peter said you already had popcorn.”

            “Wonderful! Go put it on the coffee table with everything else. Peter’s picking up the pizza from the corner.”

            “Oh, Don’s? That place is terrific.”

            You settled yourself in the living room, pulling a respectable sized grocery bag out of your messenger bag. You had put your gauze, painkillers, Band-Aids, and ace bandages in an old make up case, and wanted to keep it close by, even though you’d left the costume at home. You were not going to be called out for emergencies tonight.

            Two movies in and May was curled up comfortably in her arm chair while you were using Peter as a leg rest. He decided he wanted to use your stomach as pillow, which would have been fine, except his head went right where your bullet wound was, and you breathed in sharply before pushing his head more towards the centre of your stomach.

            “Something wrong?” His whisper was drowned out by explosions, so May definitely didn’t hear him since you strained to.

            “No, side’s just a little sore. Ran into my dresser, must have bruised something.”

            “Oh.” His voice was soft, but not because he didn’t want to interrupt Sean Connery. It sounded almost disbelieving.

            Thirty minutes later, the credits were rolling and May called for an intermission on account of “I need to check this one email to see if an order went through, and have a bathroom break. Give me fifteen minutes,” before going to her room.

            Peter shot straight up and looked you hard in the eye. “What’s wrong with your side?”

            “What?”

            “Your side. You said you bruised it. Let me take a look.”

            “Peter, don’t, it’s fine. Just bumped into the kitchen counter.”

            “I thought you said it was your dresser?” There was definitely an accusing tone in your friend’s voice.

            “I bump into a lot of things, okay?”

            “Not okay. I want to know why you’re hurt.”

            You let out a deep sigh. This was not how you wanted to spend your evening with your friend. He was going to hate you after this. “I will tell you if you promise not to yell at me, tell anyone, or try to make me stop.”

            “You got it.”

            You lifted your shirt, glancing down the hall to ensure May was still in her room. You pulled the gauze away to reveal Spider-man’s patch-up job, still very much intact, even if there was a little blood starting to dye the white webbing. “I’m Themis.”

 

 

            A few nights later you were sitting on a rooftop, watching the city below, listening for sounds of distress. It wasn’t long before the friendly (annoying) neighborhood spider-man showed up. When you weren’t in action, you could usually hold a decent, if stiff, conversation. It was kind of nice. You understood each other in a way no one else could.

            “I told someone my identity.”

            “What?”

            You could feel him watching you, but you kept your gaze straight ahead. “Yeah. He knew my side was hurt, kind of demanded to know what was going on. He took it well though. Didn’t say much. Lots of nodding and worried looks. Asked me if I planned on stopping soon.”

            “I assume he didn’t like the answer?”

            “Not one bit, but I made him promise not to yell at me, and his aunt was in the next room. He just had to accept it. He hugs me a lot more now, though. It’s sort of nice. I like being hugged.”

            “You’re a hugger?”

            “Yeah. Normal me likes hugs, and handholding and all that jazz. Especially with someone cute, and my friend is cute.”

            “You like this guy? Like, like-like him?”

            “I don’t know. Don’t really have much time to give it any thought between homework and crime fighting, arguing with you, trying to maintain a normal social life, and not letting my family find out. Love life is taking the back burner right now. Actually, I’m not even sure it’s on the stove.”

            “Oh. Yeah. Guess that makes sense.”

 

           

            Another week later and you were late to a fight, catching only the tail end, and just jumping into the fray. Not having super powers really put a crimp in your transportation. Maybe you should switch to running shoes instead of boots, even if the boots offered more protection…

            You sent one guy into the Hudson, not really certain if he was conscious at the time, and another flying backwards into a large pile of glass. You could see where Spider-man had webbed up some others, knocked one or two guys out, and fire from the explosions you heard many blocks over. Spider-man’s legs were sticking out from behind a car turned on it’s side. He wasn’t moving.

            “Shit.” You felt for a pulse, and found it, but it was faint. You listened for breathing and found it weak. “Man, we can’t be here. How am I supposed to carry you?” Hearing sirens made you panic. “Here’s hoping adrenaline makes you stronger.” You hauled Spider-man onto your shoulder and moved as fast as you could to the network of alleyways nearby, his feet dragging the ground. You needed to go deep enough in that the police wouldn’t find you in a quick search, but not so deep that you couldn’t get help if you couldn’t fix him.

            You managed to find a dry nook and pulled a dumpster so you couldn’t be seen. With no medical training of any sort, you had no idea what to do. Breathing through a mask seemed like a bad thing, and while you didn’t want to reveal his identity without his permission, saving his life seemed to matter more. You pulled his mask up so his mouth and nostrils were exposed, trying not to pay attention to his chin or lips or anything that you might remember later. Then you saw the blood dripping down the side of his nose. _OH shit, head wounds bleed a lot, right? Didn’t I hear that somewhere? Shit, I need to stop the bleeding. Fuck._

            “Okay, look, Spidey, I don’t wanna do this, but I gotta, because if I don’t then you might die, and I think that’s a lot worse, and I know you don’t always like the choices I make, but you’re just going to have to live with this one, alright?” You wren’t sure if he could hear you in his unconscious state, but saying it made you feel better either way. You pulled his mask the rest of the way off and saw the would near his hairline. That would be hard to hide without a hat.

            You started pulling gauze and tape out of your bag, making temporary bandages until he could clean them properly. Once you took a moment to examine your handiwork on his forehead, you actually looked at his face.

            “Are you fucking kidding me?”

 

            Ten minutes later Peter - _Spider-man_ \- woke up, head hurting, side hurting, actually, most of him hurting. You heard him stirring, knowing he was self-accessing the damage, taking stock of all the pain. _He’s going to be in a lot more pain in about thirty seconds._

Peter grunted as he pushed himself up, resting on an elbow while the other hand He looked around and saw the back of Themis, but he could tell her face mask was pulled down. He reached up to feel his face, confirming what he already feared.

            “Shit.”

            “Yeah, that’s sort of what I thought.”

            “Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

            “I told you, Peter. I told you who I was. I trusted you with everything. And you couldn’t do the same?”

            “I - I didn’t want it to affect our friendship. We do things differently when we’re behind masks. We don’t talk to each other the same way. I just didn’t want to lose Y/N to Themis.”

            “And you didn’t think that lying to me would have that effect?”

            “I had hoped that maybe you would agree?”

            “I agree that our dynamic is different behind masks; I agree that I don’t want to lose our friendship, but I do no understand how lying to me was supposed to save it. Care to explain?”

            “Y/N, I, I thought that if you knew I was Spider-man, then maybe, you would think I was as annoying as him.”

            “What?”

            “Themis thinks Spider-man is annoying, but Y/N and Peter are friends, right? What if you decided that I was annoying because the Themis part of you thinks Spider-man is annoying? Then we wouldn’t be friends anymore, and if that happened, we wouldn’t do what we do together, and I really don’t like the thought of you out there with no back up. Because we both know that if you decided you didn’t want to be around me that would cover every single aspect of our lives.”

            “Oh, Peter, I already think you’re annoying. Do you have any idea how annoying you are when you insist that I tell you what’s bothering me? Or how you always manage to fall asleep on me right when I need to pee? Or the fact that you always grab the slice of pizza that I’m eyeing? Peter Parker is incredibly annoying, but that doesn’t mean I like him any less. I respect Spider-man, despite the differences we have. I respect _you_. You being annoying is not going to change anything. If I’ve stuck around you this long, then I figure you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

            “So you could say that you’re stuck in my web?”

            “No. No one would say that.”

            “Come on, say it.”

            “Not going to happen. You’ve hit your head, so I’m going to ignore that extremely bad pun.”

            “Am I at least forgiven for lying to you?”

            “Help me get a better costume like yours, then we’ll see. Can’t really trust my partner-in-crime-fighting if he’s been lying, can I?”

            He smiled at your soft, semi-joking tone, knowing full well that you would expect rough sketches of costume ideas soon, and that he was on the road to forgiveness.

            “Now, we need to get you cleaned up better so May won’t notice the giant gash on your head. Do you want to take on the hipster-always-wearing-a-beanie look? Won’t work at school with the dress code, but it would work around May.”

            Peter kept smiling as you talked on, working on his other wounds as you did so. Yep, forgiveness would come eventually, and until then, he could maybe persuade Y/N to work his way more often. And she’d said he was cute. Maybe he could have the best of both worlds, in this one small way.


	7. Peter Parker - Comfort and Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can you write a fanfic where reader is Peter's partner (in a romantic way) and they study in a different school and one day Peter comes home upset because he has been bullied (maybe he even cries) and reader is trying to comfort him?”  
> (Gender Neutral!Reader requested as well)

            “Hey, Peter! I passed May in the hall, she said she’s trusting us to be responsible while she’s gone running some errands.” You announced yourself as you walked into the apartment, hollering probably a bit too loudly. “I brought some ice cream, there was a sale, and I have no self control.” You yelled over your shoulder as you out the ice cream in the freezer and the bag inside of the grocery bag of grocery bags in the cabinet. “Peter?”

            You glanced into the living room, but didn’t see him. Usually he came out to greet you. Down the hall you could see that his door was closed. You knocked on it gently. “Peter?” You heard muffled noises, was that, crying? “Peter? I’m coming in.”

            The knob turned and you saw your boyfriend’s back turned to you, his shoulders hunched, perched on the edge of the bed, looking out the window. Sniffling sounds filled the room.

            “Hey, Y/N.” He cleared his throat, but you’d already heard how weak it sounded, hoarse from crying. “Might not want to get too close; I - I think I’m getting a cold.”

            “You were fine yesterday.” You walked over and sat beside him, trying not to stare at his red, puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

            “It’s nothing.”

            “If it’s making you cry then it’s not nothing. You don’t have to tell me, but I think you might feel better if you did. And if you talk, you get ice cream, and that will definitely make you feel better.”

            “You really know how to blackmail a guy, don’t you?” He gave you a small watery smile.

            “It’s an important skill to have. Now out with it.”

            He sighed and looked down at his hands, fiddling with the hem of his jacket. “There’s this group of jocks at school, and they just really hate me for some reason. Cornered me in the bathroom today. Started talking about how I’ll probably die alone, and no one would really want to be with me. That I must have named my hand ‘Y/N’ to feel like someone was interested. Then they punched me in the gut a few times and walked out, like we’d just had a nice chat or something.” He shook his head and finally looked at you. “You know, I can take the punches, I can pretend that they hurt a lot more than they do, and I can do the whole not fighting back, because I couldn’t a few months ago, so I can’t now. That’s all fine, the physical is nothing but, the dying alone thing - “ his voice broke and he looked down, rubbing hard at his eyes as though that would stop the tears from coming.

            You pulled him into your arms and let him rest his head on your shoulder. His arms wrapped around your waist while yours went around his shoulders, head resting on top of his.

            “Want me to beat them up?”

            “No.” His lips almost tickled where they moved against your neck, but now was not the time to think about that.

            “You sure? Cause I can and will, if you want me to. Of course, this is a free country, and I suppose they are entitled to their wrong opinion. Some people just choose to be wrong, and who am I to trample on that natural human right? The founding fathers would haunt me.”

            He pulled back, hands resting on your hips. Face still puffy from crying, but now he mostly looked confused. “What?”

            “In this country, we value the fact that everyone has the right to develop their own opinion, right? We’re free to do that.” You waited for him to nod to show he was following your logic. “Well, it’s their opinion that no one wants to be with you. However, it is, in fact, a wrong opinion because they are not using all the facts, like, for one, I do exist. Two, I am dating you. Three, I am really happy with you. So their opinion is wrong because they didn’t consider all the facts.”

            “I thought opinions couldn’t be wrong?” He looked at you with slightly humoured skepticism.

            “They do when they clash with one of two things, either facts that literally prove their opinion incorrect, or my own opinion. Theirs clashes with both.”

            “So, you think I’m loveable?”

            “I wouldn’t be with you if you weren’t. I’m with you because you’re terrific, kind and gentle, and so smart that it blows my mind, and you care so so much that it makes me hurt sometimes, because I know that you’ll risk yourself to protect someone else. You make me want to be a better person - you bring out the best in me. Not to mention you’re kind of adorable. Like a -“

            “Spider?”

            “Only you like spiders. No, more like a koala.”

            “A koala?”

            “Yes. Don’t give me that look. You’re all snuggly, and warm, and you cuddle like a pro. That’s pure koala right there.”

            He laughed, a real laugh, and you smiled. His face was still streaked with tear tracks, but the sparkle was back in his eye. “Alright, I’m a koala, but that makes you a fox.”

            “Whyyy?”

            “Because, you’re very sly when you want to be, and you’re definitely foxy.”

            You felt your face growing hot, and bit your lip to stop the stupid grin from spreading across your face. “You are one smooth man Peter Parker.”

            “Well, I like seeing you get all bashful when I compliment you.”

            “Jerk.”

            “I love you, too.”

            You both leaned forward and met with a soft kiss. He pulled apart sooner than you expected.

            “I talked; do I get ice cream now?”

            You chuckled and shook your head in disbelief. “You’d rather get ice cream than kiss me?”

            “Not ‘rather than,’ it’s just that you kind of got it in my mind, and now it won’t get out.”

            “Alright, yes. Ice cream time. But!” you cut him off mid cheer as he jumped off the bed, grabbing your wrist to bring you with him, more like drag behind him, _(am I dating a five year old?)_ , “you’re doing all the scooping.”


	8. Peter Parker - Truth or Dare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You drag Peter to the "at least one" high school party you wanted to attend before you graduated and some of your peers decide to drag you both into their game of Truth or Dare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's one mention of a background character having a sexual experience (rumours and all that good stuff), but as these characters are in high school, and therefore minors and under the legal age, there is just kissing.
> 
> Also, Gender Neutral Reader!

         This was not Peter’s thing. Parties weren’t his scene, and he was a bit shocked that he had been here this long without being thrown out. But he was with Y/N, and if they were being honest with themself, this was not their idea of a good time, but graduation was coming up and they figured that they needed to go to at least one real high school party during their four-year career.

         “Just an hour, then we can leave,” they had promised. He had been keeping a close eye on his watch the entire time. Thirty minutes before they could leave, a ‘friend’ of Y/N’s grabbed their hand, dragging them away saying, “come on, we’re playing truth or dare!” A declaration which made Y/N reach out, grab a tight hold on Peter’s wrist, and make him trail after them.

         “If I do this, you have to, too.”

         “Fine, but we leave as soon as we can.”

         “Deal.”

         Fifteen minutes into the game and they were both relatively safe. Peter had picked truth twice and revealed that yes, he was a virgin, and no, he never had a crush on any his teachers. Y/N had been dared to eat an ice cream and BBQ potato chip combination that they swore wasn’t actually all that bad.

         “Peter, truth or dare?” Jessica asked, leaning forward. He’d already picked truth twice. He sighed and picked dare, knowing he’d be called a coward if he didn’t, and it wasn’t that that would bother him. He just did not want to deal with that tonight.

         “I dare you to kiss Y/N.”

         “What?” He felt his cheeks redden.

         “You heard me. Come on.”

         “I don’t want to make them feel uncomfortable.” He glanced at you. You were looking between him, the floor, and Jessica. Well, more like glaring at Jessica. Hard. Like you were actually trying to kill her with your mind. He felt your hand rest on his knee, gentle and coaxing, and when he looked at you your eyes were soft, a sharp contrast to how you looked at Jessica.

         “It’s alright, Peter.” If he hadn’t been sitting next you (and didn’t have enhanced senses) he probably wouldn’t have heard your soft voice.

         “You sure?”

         “Yeah.”

         He looked at you for a few seconds, making sure you weren’t just doing this so he could fulfill his dare. All, you probably were, but he wanted you to not regret it five seconds later.

         You nodded slightly, just so he could see, hoping he couldn’t tell that your stomach was churning with butterflies. He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. The world was silent, but the kiss wasn’t exactly magical. Not like in the movies or anything, where you lose track of everyone and everything. It was awkward to say the least.

         You were focused on him, but the position was weird, sitting cross-legged on the floor does not make for a good kissing position. You were both leaning over your legs, necks craning to reach each other. He didn’t really move his lips, and you weren’t sure if you needed to - like was he letting you take the lead so you would feel more comfortable, or was he trying to make it as simple of a kiss as humanly possible? How long was it supposed to count for his dare to be completed?

         He pulled away another second or two later. You bit the inside of your lips, eyes rapidly moving between him and the floor. He didn’t really look at you either. Eyes flickering between your face and his twiddling fingers.

         Then the silence was broken and you heard the chorus of dissatisfied partygoers.

         “That was not satisfying.”

         “Come on, give them a real kiss.”

         “Your lips barely moved.”

         “You said ‘kiss.’ There were no specifications as to how to kiss, or how long to kiss, so I did my dare. Next time, be more specific _before_ the person does what you ask. My turn. Reggie, truth or dare?”

         “Dare.”

         “I dare you to go ask Flash for a slow dance. And if he says no, you have to act as though you’re completely heart broken.”

         Reggie looked displeased at Peter’s dare, but nodded and moved off to do it. You smiled. Peter was a clever little fox when he wanted to be.

         He tilted his body toward yours so he could whisper in your ear. “Can we leave now?”

         “They’ll think we’re going to fool around.”

         He could hear the desperation in your voice. He knew you wanted to leave and continue on to the arcade as originally planned, but rumors were your pet peeve, and you tried to avoid being the subject of them if at all possible. “So we have to stay?”

         “Do you want to fight the rumors next week?”

         “No, but we leave in twenty.”

         “Agreed.”

 

         Ten minutes later the game broke up because Jessica can dish it out, but apparently can’t take it. She became a sore loser when she had to come clean about what happened after prom junior year. But the hissy fit she threw definitely let you know that it had not ended in bliss the way she let everyone believe. You heard someone whispering that her boyfriend asked for a threesome, but tried your hardest to ignore it.

         You took the opportunity to slip out undetected. In the cool night air, you breathed easier.

         “I’m glad we finally escaped.”

         “Yeah, me, too. Who knows what they might have dared next.”

         “I don’t even want to contemplate that.” You looked at him, not wanting to stare, and not wanting to bring up the kiss, but you were scared things would be awkward if you didn’t.

         “I’m sorry they dragged you into my dare. It wasn’t fair to you.”

         “It’s alright, Peter. Better me than anyone else in that circle. Can you imagine how poorly it could have gone?”

         “Yeah. Ugh, what if they had made me kiss Reggie?”

         “Reggie isn’t that bad.”

         “I don’t want to kiss a guy with a moustache, Y/N.”

         “Don’t want it to tickle your lip?”

         “Y/N!” He drug out your name in a whine and you let yourself laugh loudly. And long. “It wasn’t that funny,” he said after a solid forty-five seconds of unhindered laughter bordering ‘silent-clapping seal’ laughter.

         “You should have seen your face!”

         “Y/N.”

         “Alright, alright. I’m sorry. But really, of anyone in that circle you could have been forced to kiss, I’m the best option and you know it.” You had been going for a joking over-self-confident-I’m-your-bestie-and-you-love-me type tone, but it came out a little more sincere than you expected.

         “Yeah. I just wish it hadn’t been so awkward. They’re right. I didn’t even move my lips. Which like, the basics. I swear, normally I’m a much better kisser.”

         You contemplated you response for half a second, heart thundering in your chest, before you responded, “Am I supposed to take your word on that?”

         “What, you want proof?”

         You shrugged, earlier confidence gone. “Well, guys often think they’re better kissers than they are, and I already have proof that you need practice.”

         “Damn, no mercy. It takes two to kiss.”

         “You were dared to do the kissing. I was following your lead.”

         “So you think that if you took the lead, it would have been better.”

         “Absolutely.” _WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I’m always competitive with Peter, but this is a little over the top. Okay, Y/N, calm down, it’s fine. Friendly competition is all this is. Friendly kissing competition. Oh, I’m doomed._

         “Prove it.”

         “Alright.” You looked around and pulled him into the corner of a park you were passing, just out of sight of the sidewalk, but not so deep in that it would be dangerous. You looked at him and placed your hand on his cheek. “Now watch the master at work.”

         You pulled his face ever so slightly closer and placed your lips on his gently. You kissed him softly, keeping one hand on his jaw, the other pulled one of his hands to your waist, before taking place on his shoulder. He moved so he was holding your hips, your arm wrapped around his neck. Your tongue traced along the bottom of his lip and when he was about to open his mouth to you, you pulled back.

         You were both breathing harder, and you saw how his eyes were dilated. If you had a mirror, you would have seen that yours looked exactly like his, pupils taking over your iris, lips swollen, colour deeper than normal.

         “Okay, your kiss was definitely better, but you also had setting to your advantage.”

         “Are you saying you want to try again under better conditions?”

         “If that’s alright with you.”

         You smiled and nodded, letting your arms fall back down to your sides. “Show me what you’ve got, Parker.”

         He grinned and moved forward, a hand cradling the back of your head. He leaned in, pausing an inch from your lips, before closing the gap. His mouth covered yours and almost immediately his tongue danced along the seam of your lips. His other hand joined the one already at the back of your head, keeping you pressed to him, not that you wanted to pull away. Your hands latched onto his arms and, _oh my, has he always been this muscular?_ When you relented to him and opened your mouth, he didn’t tease you and pull away like you had done to him. He followed through. _Okay, maybe he does know how to lead._

         When you did break apart your body felt hot and your lungs were starved for oxygen. His hands slid down to your shoulders, past your arms and wrapped around your waist. He pressed his forehead to yours.

         “What’s the verdict?”

         You breathed deeply, smelling his scent surround you - detergent, soap, and his deodorant, plus something that you identified only as ‘Peter.’ You leaned back, arms still around each other, so you could look him in the eye. “Well, setting definitely makes a difference. So does the lack of audience.”

         “So, I’m as good of a kisser as you are?”

         You nodded, trying to hide your grin.

         “Does this mean we can do this again? Maybe tomorrow? Dinner? A movie? Romantic walk in the park? If you want to, I mean.”

         “Peter Parker, are you asking me out on a date?”

         “If you want me to. If you don’t then just forget I said anything.” Even in the dark you could tell he was blushing.

         “I’d love that. Pick me up at six?”

         “Sure, yeah. Absolutely.”

         You untangled yourselves and made your way out of the park and to the arcade, both of you occasionally glancing at the other and grinning with an air of satisfaction when the other wasn’t looking, and looking away quickly so as not to be caught. You couldn’t wait for the next night.


	9. Peter Parker - Twister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had a couple of ideas for Peter Parker imagines, sorry if they have already been requested or written but I love the idea of maybe a truth or dare where Peter is dared to kiss the reader? Or where the reader and Peter play twister and end up getting really close?

         “Peter, it takes at least three people to play Twister. We need someone to spin.” It was supposed to be board game night at your house, but most of the usual group had bailed. One had to babysit, another nabbed an extra shift at work, and two had decided they needed to have a date night. It was just you and Peter, not that you minded. A little alone time with your crush was more than welcome - especially since none of your friends would be making glances back and forth, or not-as-sly-as-they-think comments.

         “No, I found this app, you tell it to spin and it will spin for you then announce what you’re supposed to do.”

         “I don’t know…”

         “Please?”

         “Peter, we aren’t kids anymore, and I’m not that flexible. I’ll probably fall on you.”

         “So? Come on! Please?” He made his eyes wider and poked out his bottom lip. The puppy dog face he pulled wasn’t convincing in and of itself, but because he was just so bad at it, it made it a little more endearing.

         “Alright, fine.”

         “YES!” He pumped his fist and jumped up, reminding you or a child who got told he was going to a water park.

         Ten minutes later your arms were straining with the effort to keep you off the ground while being spread wide between red and green. Your right leg was stretched to limit at the yellow closer to your head because Peter had gotten the one that would have been less painful to reach.

         “Spin.” Peter’s voice wavered as he focused on not falling.

         “Left leg green.” The mechanical voice said in an even feminine voice. It made you hate the her all the more.

         “She wouldn’t sound so smug if she was supposed to do that,” you grunted as you shifted your weight to your arms and tried to keep your right foot from slipping as you moved your left leg behind it.

         “Is this too difficult for you, Y/N?”

         “You wish, Parker.”

         “It’s okay to admit that you’re outmatched. It happens to all of us from time to time, except for me.”

         “Oh, please. You’re going down.”

         “Spin.”

         “Right hand red.”

         All of your weight was resting on your left hand, and you were almost there. You just had to twist your feet a little and shuffle your hand so you could reach - Almost, almost, THUD! Peter slammed into your side and sent you to the ground, jarring your side. It took a few seconds to register exactly what happened. Peter knocked into you, meaning he fell first, meaning you won.

         Not that that was the greatest comfort. Your side hurt and you landed on your shoulder funny. Peter’s head was resting on your hip, which explained why that hurt - he was always hard headed.

         “Ouch. Why is your hip so hard?” He lifted his hand to rub his head, but otherwise made no indication that he was actually going to get up.

         “Why is your head so hard?” Maybe the floor was actually more comfortable than it used to be. Moving wasn’t high on your list of things to do. Gloating on the other hand, was.

         “Aunt May says it came from the Parker side.”

         “I’m shocked. By the way, I won. I won big time.”

         “Did not! You hit the ground before I did.”

         “Because you used me as a landing pad! You started falling first. Just face it, I won.”

         He let out a heavy sigh, as though he was about to do the most difficult thing in the world. “You won. But I demand a rematch.”

         “Just because you’re a sore loser doesn’t mean that I have to allow a rematch.”

         He rolled over so his chin was digging into your stomach. “I can convince you.”

         “Oh? How?”

         He sprang forward, his weight resting on your lower stomach, pinning you down, fingers digging into your sides, tickling you.

         “No! No! Peter!” You yell was shrill and hard to understand through your laughter.

         “Give me a rematch!”

         “Not on your life.” You thrashed, flailed your arms, even managed to land a few solid hits, but his arms were longer, giving him the advantage. You kicked out, throwing off his balance. He fell forward on top of you, like you were a body pillow.

         “Get off of me. How many times are you going to fall on me tonight?”

         “Well, you are comfortable.” His face scrunched. “That sounded weird, didn’t it?”

         “It did. But you’re cute, so I’ll let it slide.”

         He looked up at you and propped himself up on his elbows. “You think I’m cute?”

         “Um, yes.”

         “I think you’re cute, too.”

         “Thanks.” You shared an awkward smile before he rolled off of you. You both sat up and made eye contact, before quickly looking away. “Hey, Peter?”

         “Yes?”

         “I like you.”

         “I like you, too.” He sounded as though this was old news.

         “No, I mean, I like in a not-friend way.”

         “That’s what I meant. I like you, have for a while. That’s why I convinced the others to ditch tonight, so we could get some alone time and I could finally tell you. It seems like every time we hang out someone else is there. It’s hard to tell a girl you like her when there’s an audience.”

         He was rambling a bit, and you were smiling so hard that your face would start hurting soon. “You had them ditch us? I thought it was all my good karma that got us some alone time.”

         “Or maybe I’m your good karma?”

         “Damn, you’re smooth.”

         He shrugged and chuckled. “I try.” He looked down at his lap, chewing on his bottom lip before he looked up, moving only his eyes. He had to know how cute it made him look, how attractive. Somewhere between shy and bashful and playfully innocent that made him look sort of sexy, especially when his hair was disheveled from your tickle fight.

         “Y/N?”

         “Yes?”

         “Can I kiss you?”

         “That depends - are you a good kisser?”

         “You’ll just have to find out.”

         “Seriously, when did you get so smooth?”

         “Is that a ‘yes?’”

         “I guess so. I don’t typically let a guy kiss me before the first date.”

         “I’m honoured.”

         “As you should be.”

         He laughed lightly, and leaned forward, a hand reaching out to cup your cheek. When he was close enough that you could feel his warm breath fanning out over your lips, he stopped, letting you finish closing the gap. You met him, lips meeting. You could taste coffee on his breath, and you were sure that he could taste the strawberry of your chapstick. It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was enticing. It made you want more. Turns out Peter was a good kisser.

         You pulled back to look at him. His smile was soft and gentle, his honey brown eyes sparkled at you.

         “Was it worth it? Letting me kiss you before our first date?”

         You tilted your head to the side, lips pursed in thought. You already knew the answer was an easy ‘yes,’ but you couldn’t let him go getting a big ego. His eyebrows furrowed in worry. You grinned widely. “Well, I don’t know. That one was so short, it was hard to develop an opinion.”

         He smiled back at you, leaning forward again.


	10. Peter Parker - Flirting and Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader (Tony’s daughter, a little older than Peter) is flirting with Peter, thinks it harmless, but he actually likes her and is being hurt by it. Tony tells her to stop. She realizes she has feelings for Peter.

         The common area of Avengers HQ was not a place you usually hung out. You liked the comfort of your own room, where you could shut the door and not have to worry about anyone looking at your computer over your shoulder, they didn’t need to know what you looked at on tumblr. But here you were, half laying-half sitting on one of the couches, the Olympics playing in the background as you played games on your phone, waiting for something exciting to happen.

         Summer break had not been much for you this year. A rising junior in college, you had originally hoped to spend your summer doing something fun with friends, or taking some extra classes, maybe even get a job to pad your resume. Tony Stark had other plans. Your father didn’t want you to get a summer job because “it’s not like you’re hurting for money,” and he had asked that you not take summer classes because “I would like to spend a little quality time with you that isn’t a holiday.” Which is all well and good, if you actually follow through with it. However, he and Bruce had hit some big breakthrough and were constantly in the lab, leaving you wondering why you had come home for the summer in the first place.

         “Hey, mind if I join you?”

         You turned and saw Peter, standing awkwardly by the edge of the couch. _He’s, what did Dad say? Two years younger? Alright, I can hang out with a rising college first year._

         “Sure. change it to whatever you want. I’ve not really been paying attention. Water polo isn’t really my thing.”

         “It’s a Saturday. This is the only decent thing on.”

         “All these channels and nothing good is on. How sad is that?”

         “Yeah.”

         You lapsed into silence and watched the US lose to Montenegro. You watched him carefully out of the corner of your eye. Your dad had said that he was pretty good at what he did, but was an awkward teenager - what teen wasn’t awkward? He did seem pretty stiff, maybe you could get him to loosen up a bit?

         “So, Peter, Dad tells me that you’re a regular hero?”

         “Oh, did he? I mean, I do what I can.”

         “Swinging around, saving people, stopping dangerous men, sounds pretty heroic to me.” You leaned closer to him, an interested smile on your face.

         “I suppose so. I mean, I can do stuff that others can’t, so shouldn’t I help?”

         “Still, it’s very brave of you. I’d be scared stiff if someone pulled a gun on me.” Okay, maybe not, Tony Stark didn’t raise a scaredy cat, you knew how to protect yourself, but flirting didn’t require absolute honesty, it required flattery. Something your father taught you how to do very well, and if it came in handy with both fundraisers and flirting, who were you to complain?

         “I- uh-“

         You giggled at his red cheeks and stuttering. “Don’t argue, sweetie, just say ‘thank you.’ It’s a compliment, not a debate.”

         “Thank you, but I’m sure you’re able to handle yourself.”

         “My parents have always made self-defense a priority in my education, but that is not the same thing.”

         “Miss Stark?”

         “Yes, FRIDAY?”

         “Your father is asking for you in the lab.”

         “Please tell him I’m on my way.” You smiled at Peter and hopped off the couch. “See you later, Peter.”

         “Yeah, later, Y/N.”

 

 

         You spent more time in the lounge after that. Peter wound up in there, usually not too long after you got settled in. Peter was loosening up, occasionally trying to flirt back, but he wasn’t as experienced. Your guess was that May Parker wasn’t the flirt that Tony Stark was.

         “Oh come on, he’s not the murderer!”

         “He totally is. He has the motive, the opportunity, and the cockiness to think he can get away with it. Just watch. He’ll be the one.”

         A crime drama was on, a person can only watch so much Olympic Tennis before they lose their mind. You knew the murderer was the wife’s brother, but Peter just wasn’t hearing it. Twenty minutes the wife’s brother was arrested and the credits were rolling.

         “I’m sorry, who was it that said it was the brother-in-law?”

         “Fine, you’re right.”

         You held a cupped hand up to your ear. “I didn’t quite catch that. Could you speak up?”

         “I said you were right.”

         “Thank you, Spider-boy.” You grinned widely as you flipped through channels for something new to watch, barely hearing his softly mumbled, “Spider- _man_.”

         “Pick that show, and I bet you this time I’ll know who did it.”

         You selected the episode of Bones that he was pointing to. “For the record, I’ve seen this one.”

         “Okay, so you’ll know if I’m right.”

         “Alright, Spider- _man_.” You smirked as you saw his chest puff out a little. “Show me what you’ve got.”

 

 

         This time men’s gymnastics was on. A bunch of shirtless men flipping around and showing off their muscles and body control? Yes, please!

         “Damn, did you see the way he just swings his body around like that? Complete control. Seriously, abs of steel.”

         “I mean, sure it’s impressive.”

         “But?”

         “But, anyone who trained could do that.”

         “But how many do?” You looked over at him, watching him carefully. “Oh, I get it. You’re jealous.”

         “Am not.”

         “It’s alright Peter, I’m sure you’ve got abs of steel from all your web slinging. Come on, let’s find out.”

         “Um, how?”

         “Just hold still.” You reached a hand out, watching his face carefully for any signs of displeasure. You pressed your hand against his stomach. “Shit, Petey. You do have nice abs.”

         “Th - thanks.” His cheeks were more red than you father’s suit.

         “Your arms aren’t bad either.” You gave them a light squeeze. Definitely impressive. “Is this just from your night time activities, or do you go to the gym to impress the ladies?”

         “Well, I don’t do much training unless I’m here. Not a lot of time for the gym between school, and homework, and keeping all of this from Aunt May.”

         “Well, colour me impressed.” You winked at him as you stood up and walked towards the kitchen. “I’m going to get something to eat, want anything?”

         “I’m good, thanks.”

         “Alright. I’ll be back, eventually.” You snuck a peak back into the room before you turned the corner. Peter let out a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair before looking at his arms ad flexing them a bit, a satisfied curl on his lips.

_Damn, I’m good. But he is cute. And pretty smart. Not a bad sense of humour, either. I mean, yeah, he’s younger than me, but he’s more mature than a lot of the guys I know. I suppose he has to be with the whole superhero thing._

 

 

         One in the kitchen you stuck your head in the over-sized fridge and searched high and low for something to catch your attention and taste buds. _No luck. Maybe the cabinets?_ A quick search rendered nothing. You were about to give up when your dad walked in.

         “Hey, Dad. I was thinking pizza for an early supper.”

         “Kid, it’s three in afternoon.”

         “Okay, well, hobbits have seven meals a day. I’m almost three meals behind already. No second breakfast, elevenses, or afternoon tea. You’re going to tell me I have to pick between dinner and supper? Come on, Dad.”

         “If you can hold out til five you can whatever you want.”

         “Fine, but I’m eating grapes to hold me over.”

         “Deal.”

         You did a small victory dance back over to the fridge and got your snack.

         “Hey, Y/N?”

         “Yeah, Dad?”

         “I need to talk to you about Peter.”

         “What about him?”

         “I … uh, I really don’t want to have this conversation. I need you to stop flirting with him.”

         “What?”

         “Look, I know you think it’s no big deal, but he’s younger than you. I don’t think he knows that it’s all just fun for you.”

         “Oh come on. It’s harmless flirting! It’s not like I’ve made out with him or anything.”

         “I know that, but he doesn’t. Flirting with him when you aren’t interested is too much for him. Maybe it’s okay for people your age, but he’s newer to this. Stringing him along like this is wrong.”

         “Is it really that bad?”

         “Yeah.”

         “Shit.”

         “Language, young lady. It doesn’t sound right coming out of your mouth like that.”

         “Hypocrite.”

         “So?”

         “I’ll stop flirting with him. Do you think he’ll be mad?”

         “Maybe confused, but Steve or I will talk to him. It’ll be fine.”

         “Okay, no. I’m not having my dad talk to a guy about my flirting. No way.”

         “Too late.”

         “What’s that supposed to mean?”

         “Well…”

 

**About a Week Earlier:**

_“Hey, Mr. Rogers, Captain, sir?”_

_“Peter, for the hundredth time, it’s just Steve.”_

_“Yeah, that’s probably not going to happen.” Peter had long ago resigned himself to the fact that he would never be comfortable calling Captain America by his first name._

_Steve forced back an amused smile. “What do you need, kid?”_

_“Um, it’s just, uh, how do you know if a girl likes you?”_

_“Y/N?”_

_“How did you-“_

_“You’re sort of obvious.”_

_“Agreed.”_

_“Mr. Stark! I’m so sorry. I’ll uh-“_

_“Relax, Spider-kid. I think we’ve all noticed. My daughter took after me in many ways, including a certain lack of subtlety with flirting.” He smirked, like a proud father. “Makes it easier to keep track of her relationships,” he said, mostly to Steve. “But it also means she does a lot of flirting just for fun.”_

_“Oh yeah, and that’s never going to get her in trouble.” The All-American did not look pleased with Tony’s relaxed attitude._

_“Hey, it’s better than taking things too far for fun. She did not take after me in the respect, thank goodness. At her age, I’d rather her be a flirt and NOT be a grandpa. I’m not ready for that. And I really want her to finish school first.”_

_“You also want her to get her doctorate.” Steve said, knowing where Tony was headed._

_“The longer she’s in school the better.”_

_“Um, so what does this all mean for me? Is she just flirting for fun? Cause I really can’t tell. Like seriously, mixed signals to the max.”_

_The two older men exchanged a look that said a lot._

         I can’t break the kid’s heart.

         You also can’t give him false hope, Tony.

         Well it’s not like I know for certain what’s going on in her head. Maybe she is crushing on the spider. Not that I approve of that.

         You’ve got to tell him something.

         FINE, MOM.

_The pair turned back to Peter._

_“I don’t know, kid. Flirting is flirting. It’s hard to know how deeply it’s felt.”_

_“That doesn’t help me at all. No offence, Mr. Stark. Like, what am I supposed to do?”_

_“I can’t help you there, ‘cause there is no way that I’m going to help you date my daughter. Steve, this one’s all you. Just know, kid, whatever you decide to do, don’t hurt her or I will get out my industrial sized Raid on your ass.”_

_Peter gulped, eyes wide,mouth hanging slightly open. “Yes, sir.”_

_Tony nodded to Steve and walked away, a very smug grin on his face._ Either way, the kid’s intimidated. Good.

 

**Present:**

         “You called me a flirt? My own father called me a flirt in front of Captain America? Are you kidding me?” _Were you a flirt? That seems a little harsh, doesn’t everyone like to flirt? A little flirting isn’t a bad thing. It’s fun, it hones your skills. It’s not like you were sleeping around - that can cause real emotional damage (your father had taught you that) - but flirting was no big deal._

         “Hey, I’m on your side. And the point is that you’re confusing the boy, and it’s hurting him. He likes you, so if you don’t like him back, then you need to cut him loose. Flirting is only harmless when you’re both on the same page, and sweetheart, he isn’t.” He rested a hand on your shoulder.

         “I’m sorry. You’re right. I took it too far.”

         He hugged you tightly. Letting his little girl grow up wasn’t easy, but he had to let it happen. “It’s okay, you’re learning. My little baby girl!” He wiped away a fake tear. “All grown up and flirting.”

         “Alright, alright. I’ll go fix it, as long as you stop with the dramatics.”

         “Thank you.”

 

         You sat back down on the couch next to Peter, a little more space between you than before. The bowl of red grapes between you.

         “I got more than I meant to. Help me finish them?”

         “Uh, sure.”

         “And I think we’re doing pizza for supper tonight.”

         “The supper of champions.”

         “My thoughts exactly.” You smiled at him, warmly, friendly, nothing more. _Okay, friendly, that’s good, ease back into friendship, not flirting. This is good. Time to apologise. This is gunna suck._ “Hey, Peter?”

         “Yes?”

         “Look, I uh, I’m sorry if I’ve been making you uncomfortable or anything. It wasn’t my intention, but if I have, I’m sorry. Feeling up your muscles probably crossed a line.”

         “It’s alright.”

         “No, it’s not alright. I shouldn’t have done that. I took it too far. Please forgive me?”

         He nodded. “Of course.”

         You were silent for a minute. His attention was back on the TV. Coverage had switched to track and field.

         “Peter?”

         “Hmm?”

         “Can I tell you something else, without you getting mad until I’m done?”

         “Sure. I mean, I probably won’t be mad, but go ahead.”

         “When we first met you were really stiff and I wanted you to just relax. And I thought that flirting would help with that. And it seemed to, but I kept it going too long. And for that I’m sorry. But, for the record, I do like you, and at this point I’m not sure how to let you know that I’m flirting for real.”

         “Really?”

         “Yes, really.”

         “You like me?”

         “Yeah. And I get that I’ve probably overstepped and you don’t like me back, but I just thought you deserved to know.”

         “I like you, too. I just didn’t know if you were serious or not.”

         “I mean, I may have exaggerated a bit more than when I normally flirt.”

         “But not about the muscles, right?” He flexed his arms and winked at you. his eyes twinkled with mischief.

         Your mouth dropped open and you smiled widely. “Peter Parker, are you flirting with me?”

         He smirked. “Maybe.”


	11. Peter Parker - Super-powered Workouts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love your Peter Parker! (Coming from a Peter writer :) ) but anyways I would love to see you write like a Peter one where she also has powers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cardinal is the reader’s superhero name because Cardinals have pretty red wings and that’s sort of what I had in my head as the reader’s wings, but I left them vague so you could picture what you wanted.

         “You’re going to have to spar with him eventually, Y/N. You only ever spar with Steve and Bucky, or me and Rhodey, while Wanda watches and comments; you’re never going to expand your capabilities like that.”

         “It’s fine, Tony.”

         “No, it isn’t. Everyone has a different skill set, and you need practice with spider-kid.”

         “Maybe I don’t want to practice with spider-kid.”

         He scoffed and rolled his eyes, arms crossed over his chest. “‘Maybe?’ Please, kid. You’ve avoided being paired with him for three weeks. What are you so worried about?”

         You glanced around to make sure that no one was going to overhear you. Tony follow suit, wondering who you were worried about. After moving your wings to create a small sound barrier around you and Tony, you took a deep breath and began. “I don’t want to hurt him. It’s nearly impossible to hurt the super soldiers. And you and Rhodey have suits of armour, and Wanda can beat anybody with the blink of an eye, plus she’s used to enhanced people. Nat and Clint have years of training. Sam has insider knowledge because he has his own wings. Peter is just a teenager who got bitten by a spider.”

         “A teenager who got bitten by a spider and is also super enhanced now, like you. He’s not helpless, and he’s got experience. I did tell you that Steve dropped one of those giant shipping containers at him and he held it up like it was nothing, right?”

         “Yes, but -“

         “And he caught Bucky’s metal fist like it was a kid high fiving him. The _metal_ arm, Y/N.” He waved around his own left hand for emphasis.

         “Yeah, I got that. I saw the airport security footage.” You smiled awkwardly at his raised eyebrows. “Oh, didn’t know I could do that, did you?”

         “We’re going to have a talk about that later, young lady, but for now, you’ve got a sparring session.” He put his arm around your shoulders and wings, and started steering you towards your room so you could get changed.

         “You do realize I could kill him? Too much gale force and bam, he falls back, hits his head, dead instantly.”

         “But you won’t because murder is super illegal, and he doesn’t annoy you that much.”

         “Eh, sometimes…”

 

 

         Twenty minutes later you sitting on a bench, decked out in your athletic gear, waiting for Peter. Guilt over not trusting Peter’s abilities as well as yours plagued you - if he knew you thought you could hurt him that easily he’d be insulted, hurt, and you didn’t want to emotionally hurt him any more than physically. But your fear outweighed your guilt. Your wings twitched with anxiety as your mind raced. What if you hurt him? What if you overestimated his strength? What if you seriously injured him? Or injured yourself? What if -

         The door slammed open and echoed in the empty gym, breaking your worry induced thinking. “Hey, Y/N! You ready?”

         “Oh, yeah. I guess.” You took in his attire. Gym shorts, a t-shirt, and sneakers.

         “You don’t look too excited. Come on, it’s just a little sparring. I thought you enjoyed this?” He looked cheerful, as usual. Excited to be training with the Avengers, to get to impress Mr. Stark and Captain America, and the rest of his own personal heroes.

         “I do, normally. Guess I’m just having an off day or something.” You stood and followed him to the mat. He walked to the middle and faced you, eyes raking over you, taking in your stance. He noticed your tank top, allowing for maximum movement of your arms and wings, but your legs were covered, as though they weren’t that important to your technique.

         “So, how do you normally spar? Tony said we should do something we don’t usually, and I haven’t really gotten to see you train.”

         “Well, generally Steve or Bucky one will try to hold their ground while I create as much wind as I can, trying to knock them over, prevent them rushing me, or pull them into the air without straining something.”

         “Ah. And you think that because I’m not all beefy you’ll just knock me right over?” His eyebrow quirked and you knew that he knew. He wasn’t just guessing.

         “I never said that.”

         “Y/N, you’ve been avoiding this for weeks. I’m not an idiot.” His arms were crossed and you could see the muscles bulge a bit.

         “I know you aren’t. I just don’t want you to get hurt because of me. I know you’re strong, but I know that I can knock super soldiers on their asses, and outmatch Ironman and Ironpatriot’s flight boosters. I _know_ my own strength.”

         “I mean, I get it, I’m skinny, not as solid as the others, but you’ve seen me in action. You _know_ there’s more going on than meets the eye with me. I guarantee you that I’m a formidable opponent.”

         “Well, I suppose your leanness makes you a bit more aerodynamic.” You sighed in defeat. There was no way you were going to win the argument. He was too stubborn. “Alright, Spider-man, show me what you’ve got.”

         “You’re on Cardinal.”

 

         Thirty minutes in you decided that you and Peter were going to sit down sometime and have a long talk about his powers, because whatever it was that allowed him to climb on walls and ceilings also kept his feet on the ground when your wings created winds that usually had Steve and Bucky on their backs.

         Lifting him without straining yourself was easy. He was lean muscle while the soldiers were bulky muscle, which tended to weigh a lot more, however, he kicked and squirmed more, making it more difficult to keep your grip on him.

         “Okay,” you said, bringing him back to ground in a forced landing - you couldn’t fly straight or at a constant altitude with all his wiggling, “maybe you aren’t as easy to damage as I thought.”

         “Haha!” He cheered.

         “But, let’s see if you can catch this bird.” You smirk and took off, making him chase you around the gym and out the door into the jet hangar. High roof, more of challenge, but more fair for him since it wasn’t outside with unlimited flying space.

         He swung after you, keeping close, but not able to actually grab you. You were feeling a bit smug, until you felt a sharp jerk backwards on your left leg. You glanced back and saw his webbing wrapped around your ankle, and Peter attached at the other end, as though you were a boat and he was a water skier.

         You smirked and dropped altitude, making him drag along the ground a little, before quickly increasing your height, doing a loop-de-loop around a rafter, and pulling your leg. The webbing detached and Peter was left hanging.

         “Do you give up, yet?” You flapped in place on the other side of the hangar bay.

         “No way.” He swung towards you, giving chase again, closing in on you. Your earlier wind gust exercise was starting to catch up to you and take away from your stamina. This time it wasn’t your leg that he webbed, it was your wing. You couldn’t flap your right wing and started to drop quickly. You curled your left wing around you and squeezed your eyes shut, holding your breath as if it would help you somehow.

         But you didn’t hit the ground. You peaked an eye open and looked up. Peter had webbed your back so you were dangling below where he was perched on a rafter. You let out a rush of air, knowing you were safe. He wiggled his fingers at you in a childish wave and lowered himself to your eye level on another length of webbing.

         “I knew you wouldn’t let me fall.”

         “You still braced for impact.”

         “Knee-jerk reaction.”

         He smiled at you and looked you over for injuries. Finding none, he let out a sigh of relief. “Didn’t scar you for life did I?”

         “Oh, please, I can get higher than you could using drugs. It’s gunna take more than a little webbing to make me scared of heights.”

         “I don’t need drugs to get high, just you.”

         “Yeah, as I carry you away from danger kicking and screaming because you don’t know when to walk away.”

         He rolled his eyes but there was a fond smile playing across his lips. Ignoring your comment he bit his lip before pointedly looking at your right wing, still covered in his webbing. “So, how often do birds get caught in spiders’ webs?”

         “Very rarely, so enjoy it while you can, because there won’t be a repeat.”

         “Really? ‘Cause, see, I sort of thought that you were already caught in my web, you know, with the whole being my girlfriend thing.”

         You rolled your eyes, but grinned at his metaphor. Or was it a pun? Didn’t matter. “Shut up, Spider-man.”

         “Why would I want to do that?”

         “So I can kiss you?”

         “Oh, right, yeah. I can do -“

         You cut him off with a kiss, and felt him relax into you. You wrapped your arms around him, since his were busy holding his body up. His legs wrapped around yours, pulling your bodies closer together. You were both so immersed in the kiss, oddly romantic as it was, mid-workout, legs tangled together, dangling from the rafters above a quin-jet, that you didn’t hear the tell-tell sound of an Ironman suit flying into the bay until Tony’s voice rang out loud and clear.

         “I told you two to _work_ out, not _make_ out. Now get down and get to work!”


	12. (Pre-Serum) Steve Rogers - Family Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Steve have a daughter and they're very cute together.

         “Daddy!” Your daughter ran to the door when she heard it open from where she had been playing in the living room, not difficult in your small apartment.

         “Sorry to disappoint, sweetheart.”

         “Uncle Bucky!”

         You heard him grunt as he picked her up. Four year olds aren’t as light as one year olds.

         “You’re getting big, kid. I’m not going to be able to do this for much longer.” He walked into the kitchen and set her down in a chair before walking over and kissing you on the cheek. “Hey, Y/N. How’s it going?”

         “I’ve got no complaints other than the heating comes and goes and the landlord can’t seem to get it working right, but other than that, we’re good. How’d you beat Steve home?”

         “Eh, you know the punk. Probably got distracted by some pretty sunset or something that he feels the need to sketch.”

         “I know that voice and I know you’re lying, James.”

         “Oh, pulling out the big guns.”

         “Here,” you held out a knife, “start slicing apples and I won’t interrogate you.”

         “You’ve got it, how many you want?”

         “Two, please.”

         You worked to finish dinner while your daughter set the table, with a little coaching from Bucky. You stirred the stew before making Bucky taste it. He agreed that it needed more pepper and with that adjustment done, dinner was ready, right as the door opened a second time.

         “Daddy!”

         Another grunt. You smiled, knowing she had probably run straight into his legs, nearly knocking him over. You’d have to have another talk with her about that.

         “Hey, pumpkin.”

         “Hey, honey!” You hollered, serving out the stew. “Dinner’s ready.”

         “Hey, Y/N. Hey, Buck. When’d you get here?”

         “Not long ago.”

         Steve sniffed the air. “Smells amazing, Y/N.” He wrapped his arms around you and you hugged his skinny frame. He inhaled deeply and you knew he was smelling your shampoo. “But not as amazing as you.” He pulled back just enough to wink at you.

         “Behave,” you whispered, “at least until she’s in bed.”

         “Yes ma’am.” He gave you a peck on the lips and smiled.

         “Eww, gross.” A little four year old voice said from the table.

         “Yeah, eww, gross.” A not four year old voice said from beside her, a chuckle barely contained.

        

         After dinner, you and Bucky washed dishes while Steve played with your daughter. It wasn’t often they had time like this, where he didn’t have chores to do or errands to run. Sometimes she would tag along, but getting her daddy to read to her was a rare favourite of hers. So you pushed Steve into her room with a stack of books and told him not to come out until it was time to brush teeth, which was only in an hour and half anyway. You and Bucky chatted, swapping stories about Steve and occasionally pausing to hear giggles of “do the voice again, Daddy,” and “STOP TICKLING ME.”

         Eventually, Bucky decided that he needed to head on out because he had an early start the morning and “you two could probably use some alone time,” said with waggling eyebrows and a wink.

         “Behave yourself, James.”

         “You got it, Mrs. Rogers.”

 

         When they didn’t come out to bash their teeth for bed, you shrugged. She could be a little late to bed tonight. When they didn’t come out thirty minutes after bedtime you sighed. _Mamas always have to be the party pooper._ You cracked open the door to tell them it was bedtime, but saw that you were a little late for that.

         Steve was l

ying on his back, propped against her pillows, with your daughter curled into his side, pink blanket pulled up to her shoulders. You leaned against the doorframe for a moment, watching the two. _He’s going to have a crick in his neck if I leave him like that._ you pushed off the frame.

         “Steve,” you whispered as you gently nudged his shoulder, “time to go to bed.”

         “But ‘m already in bed.” His bleary eyes blinked open and his lower lip poked out.

         “Wrong bed. Come on.” You helped him slide out of bed without waking your little girl, the tip-toed out of the room.

         “You’re making her bush her teeth extra-long in the morning since it’s your fault she didn’t tonight,” you yawned as your husband leaned against you.

         “Mmhmm.”

         “And you still have to get ready for bed.”

         His body perked up like he suddenly had enough energy to run a marathon. “But now that she’s in bed I don’t have to behave anymore.”

         “Steve, you were asleep two minutes ago.”

         “Yeah, but now I’m not.” His arm slipped down your waist to your hip, applying a little pressure. He nuzzled you neck. “So, what do you say we misbehave a little?”

         “As long as you’re quiet. These walls are thin.”

         “I promise I’ll be quiet. But I can’t promise that you will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I don't want kids, so this is really bare bones as far as kid involved fluff. I probably won't take requests where the reader is a parent again (awesome aunt/uncle is right up my alley), but I hope you enjoyed this.


	13. Peter Parker - Flirting and Feelings: The Concluding Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader is worried about being too old for Peter and taking advantage of him, and talks about it with Peter. Happy ending because I don't do sad endings (with kissing as requested)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Comparisons to those assholes who date much younger people and control/manipulate them. Peter reassuring reader. (If this makes it seem like a victim reassuring/comforting an abuser that is not the intention. I do not think I portrayed the reader as an abuser on that way, just worried that with the age difference she would be. If ANYONE has an issue with this for ANY REASON please please please let me know and I will remove this, make appropriate changes OR completely rewrite with a different angsty problem. I want this blog to be safe for everyone!)
> 
> A/N: Guys/Ladies/Gentlemen/Everyone in between, please don’t date people who make you need to prove you are mature in order to date them. Like, freshman, don’t date seniors (high school or college). Not everyone dating younger is bad, but please be careful if you are going to date someone more than a year or two older than you while you’re on the younger end of the spectrum.

          It had been almost a week since you had apologised to Peter for taking things too far. It was back to the same routine, hanging out in the common area, watching bad TV or cheesy movies, but now when you flirted it was real, and he flirted back. It was fun and on the few occasions that he made you speechless he grinned wide, proud of himself, while you sputtered, face heating up, but smiling because it was just too cute. He was just too cute.

         You were lying in bed, an infatuated grin on your face. Peter was adorable. Cute. And young. Younger than you. Barely eighteen to your almost twenty. A rising first year to your junior. Oh. The smile slowly fell from your face as you really contemplated the age difference.

         Two years really wasn’t a long time, but a lot of maturing happened in the first years of college. Politically, religiously, academically. A person finds out who they are once they aren’t around their parents, or aunt in Peter’s case, as often. Sure, Peter had a head start on that maturity because he was Spider-man, he fought crime as a hobby. And he had to keep it a secret from everyone. The things that he would have seen - those would have matured him _years_ past you in some ways.

         But he was also so much younger than you in some ways. He still had a somewhat rose-coloured view of the world. He believed in the good of the world. You could feel yourself getting more disillusioned, more bitter, every time you turned on the news. He was young and full of hope and general _goodness_. You couldn’t mess that up. You couldn’t drag him down. You could be his friend, but that’s where it had to stop.

 

 

         The next day you stayed in room like you used to, distracting yourself with stupid online personality quizzes, because apparently it was really important that you find out which ruler you were in a past life. You weren’t sure if Napoleon was on the money, or completely off. But your aura was green, and apparently your inner mythical creature was a nymph, whatever that said about you.

         Never had you been so glad for the stash of snacks you kept in your desk - mostly for marathon study sessions, or when you were on a roll with a story and did not want to stop for basic body functions like hunger. Venturing out to the kitchen would have meant going past the common room, and probably running into Peter, and that was not a good idea. Luckily, the bathroom was just across the hall from you, so with a careful ear pressed to the door to listen for footsteps and a stealthy peak into the hallway, you could dart back and forth to fill up your water bottle or take care of business without running into anyone.

         It was getting on towards supper when there was a knock at you door. You froze and scrunched your eyes, making a note to get a peep hole for you door before finally shouting, “who is it?”

         “It’s Clint.”

         With a heavy sigh of relief, you stood and pulled open the door, glancing around to see if there was anyone else with him. Nope. Safe.

         “Come on in.” It was meant to be polite, but you knew it came off as rush, and there was no way he didn’t notice how you looked around the hall before quickly shutting the door.

         “What’s up?”

         “I was coming to tell you that supper is almost ready and your dad wants everyone to dress nice.”

         “Why?”

         “I don’t know. Something about he gets us all a wardrobe and we only ever look like we’re going to the gym.”

         “Alright.”

         “So… you gunna tell me what’s going on?”

         “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

         “You’ve barricaded yourself in your room all day.”

         “Not true.”

         “You pulled me in here like I was giving away your safe house or something.”

         “I…”

         “Are you avoiding someone? A certain teenage mutant ninja spider?”

         You almost snorted. “You told him that one yet?”

         “Nope. Saving it until he annoys me… more than he already has.”

         “Fair enough.”

         “Sooo, confide in me, Y/N. Tell me what troubles you. I’m good at this stuff. I’ve got a daughter.”

         “A daughter that isn’t even ten yet.”

         “Well then let me practice so I’m good at this when she’s old enough to have problems like this. I mean come on, are you really going to talk to Tony about this?”

         “Ugh, he already talked to me about this once last week. Not looking to have a repeat of that.”

         “So?” He waggled his eyebrows.

         “Fine.”

         Clint let a smile spread across his face and he sat down cross-legged on your bed, elbows resting on his knees, leaning forward like a teenager ready for the latest gossip. You pulled your desk chair over in front of him so you could keep your voice low in case anyone were to overhear while passing by. Unlikely, but you weren’t going to take an chances.

         “Peter’s eighteen.”

         “And?”

         “I’m almost twenty.”

         He paused, even though he knew you’re waiting for his reaction. You raise your eyebrows in question, prompting him.

         “Okay.”

         “Is that it? ‘Okay?’ Do you not see the problem?”

         “I mean, there’s a two year age difference. What’s the big deal?”

         “The big deal is that I’m going to be a junior and he’s fresh out of high school. I feel like a predator.”

         “But you didn’t when you were flirting with him?”

         “I hadn’t thought about it then! Flirting in and of itself is relatively harmless, but flirting when you actually want something to come of it is a completely different matter.”

         “Fair enough. So what are you going to do.”

         “Well, ‘avoid him’ was today’s plan. And that’s about shot because I know you’ll drag me kicking and screaming to dinner.” You glanced up to see him nodding in agreement. “And avoiding him will just hurt him in the long run and that isn’t the goal. So I have to talk to him. But it’s not like I can say ‘you’re too young and I feel like a pedophile,’ cause that’s just rude.”

         “Why don’t you ask him what he wants?”

         You stared at him blankly.

         “Come on. Tell him that you’re worried about the age difference and ask him how he feels about it.”

         “That’s too logical. Let me be angsty.”

         “Nope.”

         “I just - that’s what creepy old men do. They pull the ‘I’m conflicted because you’re so young’ thing so that the younger person feels the need to prove that they’re mature. It’s uncomfortable.”

         “And that’s why you feel creepy about it.” He nodded, finally understanding your aversion to becoming the thing you feared. Creepy old men were among his biggest fears for his own children. “Alright, um, just talk to him. It’s two years, not ten or twenty or anything. If he were still in high school, I would tell you to back off -“

         “If he were in high school we wouldn’t have this issue.”

         “Exactly. Now, get dressed in something nice-ish and come eat.”

 

 

         Ten minutes later you were stepping out of your room, fresh blouse - button up with poufy pirate sleeves that you never had an occasion to wear- and nice jeans with some cute wedges on, hair brushed, even a dab of make up. You walked down the hall, bumping into Wanda and Steve. You were relieved to see you weren’t under dressed. Steve also had on jeans and a button up (though sadly no billowing pirate sleeves), and Wanda wore a casual sundress. Steve held out his arms and escorted you on one side, and Wanda on the other.

         “Oh ho ho, look who’s getting all the ladies. My man!” Sam none-too-subtly announced your entrance.

         “What can I say? Girls love a man in uniform.”

         The room laughed and you moved over to hug your dad. He kept one arm around you and pulled you close to his side so he could whisper in your ear.

         “Haven’t seen you today, kid. I hear you’ve locked yourself in your room with an unhealthy amount of junk food.”

         “You sat in a donought to eat do noughts, you’ve got no room to judge.”

         “You still have to explain.”

         “I just needed some alone time.”

         “That doesn’t explain the careful bathroom breaks and not even coming to the kitchen for food.”

         “I need time to think, away from people. I’ve got it sorted now. I’m fine. Can we stop whispering about this? Everyone will or has noticed.”

         Your father nodded and released you from his grasp. “We’re discussing how unhealthy this is later.”

         You chuckled and rolled your eyes, walking away.

         “Do as I say, not as I do.”

        

        

         I didn’t really known what to expect when Mr. Rogers - Steve - told me to dress up for dinner, but I fit right in with the button ups and jeans. Most of the guys had on a white shirt - Sam had a blue one, Vision had a sweater over his, and Rhodey completed his look with a sports coat, while Tony had on a vest and slacks, probably just ditched the coat from some important meeting earlier.

         I hadn’t gotten to see Y/N yet. And it sucked. She hadn’t been in the common room all day, and I knew she hadn’t gone out. Hadn’t needed to help Tony with anything. Wasn’t having ‘girl time’ with Wanda. She just hadn’t left her room. And I wanted to go talk to her so badly, but I didn’t want to seem clingy. Like some kid who had to be with his crush every second.

         But there she was, walking toward me. Oh, she looked so cute. Like, really. Cute wasn’t right. Pretty. Gorgeous. Yeah, that’s it. She smiled and nudged me.

         “I didn’t know you cleaned up so well.”

         “Oh, I - “

         “Seriously, this is a way different look from graphic tees or spandex.”

         “It isn’t spandex - I mean, it’s a mix of fabrics, so there’s a little in there for stretch, but it’s also -“

         “Peter.” Her voice deadpanned, but her lips were curled upward ever so slightly, and her eyes were laughing, amused at my tendency to ramble.

         “Sorry.” I chuckled and rubbed the back of my neck, feeling my face heat up with embarrassment.

         Her smiled faded a bit, the light in her eyes dulling as some undetermined emotion flickered across her face, covered by a mask of general vague pleasantness in seconds. “Hey, um, we didn’t get to talk today like we normally do, so after dinner, wanna go on a walk around the compound or something?”

         “Yeah, I’d like that. I like talking to you.”

         She responded with a smile, but her eyes still looked a little … off.

 

 

         The night air was cool, but not enough to need a jacket. A light breeze ruffled your hair and reminded you how good fresh air was. Once you were far enough away from the main building, so that the lights from the windows weren’t reaching you and you had to rely on the outside lights, you took a deep breath.

         “Peter?”

         “Mmm?”

         “I was sort of avoiding you earlier today,”

         _She was avoiding me? Oh, shit, did I mess up? I bet I messed up,_

         “because I needed to think, and I need to talk to you about because I can’t make this decision on my own.”

         “Okay, is something wrong?” _Please please please please please let nothing be wrong._

         “I - I want to know if you think the age gap between us is weird. I know two years isn’t really a big deal, but I’m almost done with college, and you’re just starting, so I know that places us at different stages in life. I’m thinking about life after graduation while you’re just getting started.”

         _Damn it._

         “You think I’m too young?”

         You stopped walking so that you could look at him in the dim light radiating from he perimeter lights that Tony insisted on after Clint’s whole ‘Prison Break’ escapade with Wanda a year or so ago. His eyebrows were raised in surprise, eyes searching yours, posture stiff, shoulders back and straight making him seem a little taller and very on edge. He’d looked more relaxed in fights than he did now.

         “ _I think_ that if we want to keep with what we’re doing then we to know exactly where we stand. Cause I don’t want to be the creepy older person that pushes you too far too quick, or tries to get you to mature faster than you’re ready for, or anything like that. You shouldn’t feel the need to prove to me that you’re mature, and if I’ve made you feel like that, then this isn’t a good decision.”

         Peter’s eyebrows were furrowed, his lower lip hung down ever so slightly, like he was stuck on a homework assignment and couldn’t quite get it figured out. It was sweet, really, how he clearly wasn’t really processing what you were saying, as though the thought had never occurred to him. And why should it? People being preyed upon didn’t always know or realize that they are.

         “But you haven’t made me feel like that. At all.”

         “I don’t want to be the person that dates someone younger than them and takes advantage. I don’t want to force that on you. You don’t deserve that. No one deserves that.”

         “You - you aren’t.” He shook his head for emphasis. He looked you in the eyes, licking his lips and taking a deep breath. “I have never pretended or tried to be more mature to make you like me. I’ve never felt like you wanted anything from me other than me. Look- you don’t want to take advantage of me, and I appreciate where that line of thought is coming from, I do. I’ve taken the classes about recognising abuse and harmful relationships, I just don’t think that’s what this is. I think that we have some things in common, and some things not in common, and sure, maybe my maturity level isn’t exactly yours, but I don’t think we’re so off that it’s at a point where you could ever take advantage of me, because we’re not that far apart, and because you’re not that kind of person. And I really - I mean I really, really like you, and I would like to give this a go.”

         Your breath caught in your throat and your chest felt tight. Something inside you wanted to cry. Something else inside you wanted to laugh. And yet something else inside you wanted to scream, whether out of joy, or frustration, you weren’t sure. You blinked rapidly, trying to wrap your head around this man.

         “Do you still want the same thing, or am I completely out of luck with you?”

         “Peter, I like you, I just don’t want to hurt you.”

         “I don’t think you will.” He stepped one step closer, so you were less than a foot apart. One of his hands reached out slowly, tentatively, for yours. You reached back ever so slightly, eyes not leaving his. His usually coffee-with-cream brown eyes looked more like black tea in the darkness of night, but they were still his. They still communicated more in the span fifteen seconds of eye contact than Steve could in five minutes of one of his heart-to-hearts, which was really saying something. Steve was good at accessing his emotions.

         “Y/N?” He pulled you out of your thoughts and you noticed that his gaze drifted dow to your mouth, and you couldn’t help but look at his. How his bottom lip was a bit more plump than his top. How his mouth wasn’t too wide or too narrow for his face, it was just right. “Can I kiss you?”

         You glanced back up at his eyes and noted how they shimmered with hope and almost begged for permission without the need for words. You nodded, biting down gently on your lip. “Yes, Peter.”

         He smiled, and you thought you heard a small sigh of relief, but you couldn’t be sure. There wasn’t much space between you for him to bridge as he leaned in, letting you finish the last inch or so, letting you finish leaning in when you were ready. It had been a while since you kissed anyone, and you hoped that you weren’t horribly out practice, but you forgot to worry about it as you fell deeper and deeper into the kiss. His lips were slightly chapped, but warm, and they fit against yours really well. There was a sharp intake of breath, but you could not have said if it was you or him. The hand that wasn’t holding his lifted up to the side of his neck, and you held it gently, keeping him from pulling back. You moved your lips against his, pulling back just a hair to make him lean further into you, to chase your lips, before surging back in with more gusto, the hand on his neck starching out its fingers to gently, just barely, run through the hairs on the back of his neck, the tips of your fingers and short nails brushing against the sensitive skin on his neck. A shiver ran through him and he hummed into the kiss, making you smile. The smile broke your contact, but it was enough for a first kiss. You pulled away as he did, letting your hand drop to his shoulder, then down his arm, until he caught it in his hand.

         With both of your hands in his, he leaned back enough to look at you without his eyes crossing. Squeezing your hands gently, he smiled, big and happy, and not at all concerned about hiding how wonderful he thought it was.

         “That was…” he nodded vaguely, a silly grin still on his face, “that was great.”

         “Yeah. You’re not half bad for a whipper-snapper.”

         He sputtered out a laugh and tugged on your hands to pull you closer to him, bodies brushing against each other. “‘Whipper-snapper?’ That the best you go, old timer?”

         “Listen here, son, you need to respect your elders.”

         “You mean like this?” He leaned in again, hands cupping your jaw on either side, tilting your head how wanted, immediately going for a deep kiss, running his tongue along the seam of your lips. Without your permission, your arms wrapped around his neck and you body pressed against his. You inhaled deeply through your nose, and without a second thought to whether or not this was a good idea, you opened your mouth, and reciprocated. You actually heard the softest moan come from the back of Peter’s throat, almost inaudible. If you hadn’t been paying attention for a reaction, you probably would have missed it.

         He pulled apart sooner than you wanted to, looking rather pleased with himself, a twinkle in his eye reminding you of the way chocolate diamonds sparkled in those Le Vian commercials.

         You nodded, not quite ready - or able - to find your words. “Yeah,” you finally managed, voice a little strained, “something like that. But I really would prefer if I was the only one you showed respect to like that.”

         “Now that, I can do.” He winked at you, self-confident and happy.

         You smiled and giggled, feeling more like sixteen year old than an almost twenty year old. “Come on, they’ll send a search party after us in a few minutes, if they aren’t already checking security footage.”

         He slipped his hand back into yours as you slowly walked back towards the complex. “Sooooo, does this mean you’re my girlfriend.”

         “Tell you what, I’ll be your girlfriend if you’ll be my boyfriend.”

         “You’ve got yourself a deal.” You laughed together. “Should we seal that with a kiss? I feel like we should.”

         You laughed and rolled your eyes, leaning over and pressing a quick peck on his cheek before he could register that you had closed the gap.

         “It doesn’t count because we weren’t both doing it.”

         “And here we are at the door, where _anyone_ could see.” He knew that meant it wasn’t going to happen, even if everyone already knew what was going on between the two of you anyway. “Guess you’ll just have to be held waiting in suspense.” You smiled, winked, and walked back inside, leaving Peter to follow behind you.

         He shook his head in disbelief, walking in after you, saying: “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is actually longer than the first part, which was totally unintentional. This was supposed to be less than 1,000 words, but it ended up being almost 3,000? Like, how even?
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading this! If you liked it I would love to hear from you!!
> 
> And as I said at the top, if I portrayed something in a creepy/predatory way I promise it was unintentional, but let me know and I will take it down/fix it. I don't want to make anyone feel uncomfortable with my stories.


	14. Peter Parker - Sleep and Frienships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you do a fic where spidey and the reader are superhero frenemies and one day the reader gets like put under a sleeping drug and starts getting really dizzy and sleepy while fighting and he has to help a girl out lol I just got out of the hospital and I just wanna relate tbh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this one allowed a little wiggle room into how she gets put under a sleeping drug, so I probably definitely took some scientific liberties, I’m sorry my science people, please don’t kill me. Also, I don’t really know all of the bad guys that Spider-man fights, so I made this one up.
> 
> And I'm sorry for the really shitty chapter title.
> 
> Also, should I just change the name of this to "Peter Parker Drabbles" since there's only been one non-Peter Parker request?

          You carefully climbed in the broken window, trying to avoid getting your hands cut on the glass still frame, mostly succeeding. You could feel the grit of tiny pieces of glass in the lines of your palms, and the familiar light sting of a small scratch on the side of your hand. You glanced at it and when you didn’t see any free-flowing blood you smiled, lifting your game to assess the damage. It was not bank rush hour by any means, and since this was a smaller branch anyway there were few people to worry about getting out. Only four, plus a little kid. So four and half.

         Glass crunched just behind you, footsteps walking toward you, but not in a threatening way. You still hadn’t found the perp in question, but these footsteps were nothing to worry about. Annoying, but not dangerous.

         “Hey there, Madame Mystery.”

         “I told you not to call me that.”

         “Uh-huh, well I don’t have any other name for you, so it’s gunna stick till you get another one.” Spider-man looked around. “How about you get them out, I’ll deal with Dr. Carter.”

         “Not on your life. You take them. I can handle Carter.”

         “Somehow I doubt that. Science isn’t your thing.”

         “And women aren’t yours.”

         The eyes of his mask narrowed at you. _Still have to figure how his mask moves with his face._ They widened again and he pulled you to the ground just behind the table where people fill out their bank slips.

         “Hey, what’s the big -“ BANG!

         A gun went off and you remembered his ‘Spidey-sense.’ He could have picked a better name for it, surely. He recovered his bearings faster than you did and was already distracting the good doctor, who was showing no signs of slowing down as she emerged from the bank manager’s office, shooting bullet after bullet at Spider-man, who was doing an impressive job of dodging at the moment. Which meant you had to get the civilians out while you could. The tellers were safe behind bullet-proof glass, for now at least. You crawled along the ground to avoid the stray bullets and motioned for the hostages to move toward the door. You watched to make sure they made it out the door before standing and rushing Carter from behind.

         Apparently getting turned down for grant after grant after grant could really change a woman. She had been hoping to develop a drug that had the potential to increase a person’s natural abilities - physical and mental - over time, which was a cool concept, but apparently not as worth funding as cures for horrible diseases, or a way to end world hunger. Or that’s what the stuffy old guys with deep pockets thought. You thought her idea was great, but that didn’t mean you could let her fund her research by robbing banks.

         What you’d read was that she was a book worm - not a physical person at all. You were expecting an easy fight once the gun was out of the way. She was reloading when you body slammed her, sending you both to the floor. Her recovery time was quick and she sent an almost immediate elbow to your face. Leaping to your feet, noting that the gun had landed across the room when you hit her, and Spider-man ushering the bank tellers out as quietly as he could, you smirked. Close combat had never been you favourite, but you had your secret weapon.

         “Going dark!” was the only warning Spider-man got before you took out all the lights in the room with a snap of your fingers. The bank was dark, and because the building was old, there were few windows for natural light to get in, not that there was much with how early it was getting dark this time of year. With the lights gone you could use your night vision. With an inhale you flipped a switch in your brain and you could see perfectly.

         Carter was disoriented and looking around for you, trying to make her eyes adjust to the sudden darkness.

         “Carter, you’re a smart scientist. You don’t need to do this.”

         “You got another way to fund research? Do you know what a scientist is without funded research? Nothing! I worked too hard to get here to just become someone else’s researcher.”

         “I’m sure there is some university that would love to fund you.” You kept moving around her slowly, trying not to make any noise. Rushing her once had been enough. If you could talk her down, you would. Keeping your distance was always your first method once you turned the lights out. When people and darkness mix bad things can happen of you aren’t careful. If she’d still had her gun then you had no doubt she would be shooting blindly into the darkness, and would likely hit one of you, which was why you waited until she was disarmed in the first place.

         “No! There isn’t! But I don’t need them. It’s not like anyone will miss this money. the FDIC insures this money. No one is actually getting hurt.”

         “That’s not the point. And you pulled a gun on Spider-man. That could have killed him if he wasn’t as fast as he is.”

         “That almost sounded like a compliment!” He called from what sounded like - you glanced up, yep, right above you.

         “You’re fast. It’s fact, not flattery.”

         “I may have pulled a gun on your little friend, but I’ve got something else for you.”

         Before you could ask what that meant, she smashed a glass vial on the ground and a smoke spread around you. You tried not to breathe, but not-breathing was just too difficult. The world didn’t look quite right and your head felt funny. It didn’t even take a full breath in before you felt the world going dark - actually dark.

 

 

 

         Cars honked, people yelled, and some awful smelled filled your nose. A light was beating against your eyelids, demanding that you open them. Slowly, you opened your eyes, thinking that it would be easier if you just used a crowbar to pry them open. A light from a nearby billboard was what was shining on your eyes, and the sky was darker than it had been when you entered the bank. The cold air stirred against your skin and you shivered. Moving to stand, you groaned when your limbs were still too heavy to move.

         “Hey, hey, whoa now. This is not the time to start rushing around. You need sleep, missy.” Spider-man’s hands pressed against your shoulders, keeping you down, but giving you enough room to sit while leaning against the billboard.

         “What are you talking about? What happened?”

         “Carter knocked you out with some gas. Not really sure what it was. You’re pretty easy to swing around the city unconscious, by the way. It’s much more difficult when you’re awake. You’re always fighting it.”

         “Yeah, well, I don’t like men in masks grabbing me and taking me across the city.”

         “Hey, it’s always for a good cause, and you know it.”

         You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. Your head was starting to hurt too much to argue about his Tarzan/George of the Jungle type swinging. “How did you get us out of there? What happened to Carter?”

         “Tripped her with some webbing, left the police a nice little present with a bow on top. And I _might_ have webbed you to my back.” Seeing your eyes widen and your eyebrows shoot up he quickly explained. “It’s easier to swing with two hands, and since you couldn’t hold on it was the only way I could really, safely, get you out.”

         You nodded and tried to picture it. You wanted to argue, but you could feel your body telling you to go back to sleep. Tension eased out of your body as exhaustion and the remnants of the drug took over.

         “Look, I need to get you home, so you can sleep this off.”

         “Hm.”

         “Can you tell me where you live? Just a street? Or a building? I promise I’ll forget t immediately.”

         “Uhn.”

         “Madame, I don’t know what that means.”

         “Queens.”

         “Which part?” But you were already asleep. _Okay, get to Queens, then get more details._

It had been difficult to wake you enough to get more details about where you lived, and he made it the rooftop adjacent to yours, which was just down the street from his. Getting you to specify which window was yours was nearly impossible.

         “What floor do you live on?”

         “It’s high up.”

         “You got a number for me?”

         “I don’t know. It’s big.”

         “Shit, Madame, I’m gunna need your help here.”

         “Hmm.” You had snuggled deeper into his arms, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “M’head hurts, Spidey.”

         “I know, I know, but we gotta get you home. You can’t take some medicine for it then.”

         “Don’t wanna move.” You voice was muffled by his neck, and without his increased hearing he probably wouldn’t have understood you at all.

         “You don’t have to. I’ve got you.”

         “Mmm, Spidey.” You slung an arm up around his shoulder and hugged him a little. Peter was really starting to wonder if you were just more affectionate as you became sleepier or if it was a side effect of the medicine.

         “Alright, Madame Mystery. Which window is yours?”

         “Just sleep here.”

         “I can’t let you stay on a rooftop alone all night.”

         “Then stay with me.”

         “I’ve got to get you home.”

         “Ten minutes?”

         Peter sighed, shifting so he could look at your mask covered face. Your eyes were closed, eyelashes fanning out across your cheeks. You readjusted your position, you nose rubbing against his jaw in the process. You looked delicate like this, unlike when you were fighting crime with him. And he couldn’t very well go window to window until hi found your room. Someone was bound to look outside and freak out, wondering why Spider-man was toting around an unconscious teenage girl in a mask. It would not look good at all, and the media already sort of hated him…

         “Just ten minutes.”

         You hummed happily, a small smile on your face. Peter held you carefully as he sat down, leaning his back against the retaining wall of the building. He wrapped his arms around you so you were warm and he was comfortable, well, as comfortable as possible in the cold. Peter let his head fall back a bit, and his mind wander, hoping that maybe after this the two of you would become more of a team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this! This got slammed out over the course of 2-3 days because I would much rather write than deal with all of the things that demand my attention and are actually stressing me out. As always, this has not been beta'd. If you enjoy my work please leave kudos or a comment, I promise, it will make me love you forever because those are my fuel!


	15. Peter Parker - Sleep and Friendships (End)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Spider-man knows where you live, the two of you need to have a little heart to heart.

Spider-man was on the roof across from your building. _Spider-man_ was on the roof across from _your building_ looking _into your window_. It was starting to get dark, the sun setting behind the tall buildings several blocks over, but it was him alright. Your eyes were locked onto his form. He was sitting on the ledge of the roof, legs dangling down, but his gaze was definitely fixed in your direction. And then he hesitantly lifted a hand and gave a small wave.

_ He waved. Spider-man waved at me. At Y/N. Which means he knows. Wait, of course he would know… he had to get me home last night. It must have been him because I sure as Hell don’t remember shit. Ugh. Did he see my face? Figure out my name? Wait - he just saw my face. Damnit! Come on, Y/N. Pull yourself together and go talk to him. _

You grabbed your coat, a scarf and a beanie, deciding that your costume and mask were pointless by now. He’d seen you, knew where you lived, and besides, Spider-man was a goodie-goodie who wouldn’t use your identity against you, and it wasn’t like anyone else knew. You hollered to your Mom that you were going for a walk and hurried out the door.

You made your way across the street and behind the building to use the fire escape to get to the roof. You were reaching up to pull the ladder down to you when your felt something grab your thighs. The yelp came out of your mouth before you could stop it and suddenly you were being hoisted skyward. It took a short moment before you registered Spider-man above you and his trusty webbing attached to your jeans. You held onto the string of webbing’s he pulled you up, trying not to think about how much you were trusting fancy silly string.

“Sorry.” He pulled you over the edge and helped you to your feet, detaching the webbing from your jeans. “Climbing the fire escape would have taken time and someone might have seen you. Thought this would be easier.”

“Uh-huh. Well, thanks for the lift. And the one last night, I guess. I don’t really remember anything after she broke that vial of whatever.”

“Yeah. You were pretty out of it. Getting you to tell me where you lived was a nightmare.”

“I bet.”

You looked at each other, occasionally glancing at the ground because this might have been the most awkward moment of you life so far. You shuffled your feet, working up the confidence to ask.

“Do you know who I am? Like my name?”

“Um, yeah, actually. I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out. And for the record, I didn’t know until you looked out the window this morning. I didn’t take your mask off last night.”

“Wait, you _know_ me? As in you didn’t just see my name in my room last night?”

“Yeah. We, uh, we go to school together.” He was scratching the back of his neck like he was nervous. Your eyes widened and you felt the blood drain from your face. “Hey, it’s alright. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“But you aren’t going to level the playing field, are you?”  
“Actually, I thought you might ask about that.”

“And?”  
“I will. On one condition.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” You crossed your arms, hip thrown out, head cocked to the side.

“Don’t ask me why I don’t use my powers at school.” It was phrased as an imperative statement, an order, but his tone made it a question.

You blinked in surprise. It seemed like a strange request. Not using his powers at school kept his profile low, what other reason could there be? You nodded you agreement. “Fair enough.”

With a single head nod, as if confirming to himself that now was the time, he put both hands behind his head and pulled his mask off from behind.

“Peter? Peter Parker?”

The brunette nodded and let you look at him. Your eyes raked over his form and he felt exposed even more than normal in his aerodynamically tight costume. He fought to keep a relaxed posture, even though he wanted to cross his arms over his chest and hunch his shoulders to make himself smaller. You were just confused. Peter Parker, Mr. Gets Beat Up Everyday, probably the sweetest, quietest kid you knew. Smart enough to take advanced classes in every topic - like online college classes, not just the AP classes that you and the other hopefully college bound kids took. Now you really did want to ask why he didn’t use his power at all at school. Even just to escape the bullies.

“Y/N? You gunna say anything?”

“Wow. You really do a god job of hiding the muscles at school.”

“Yeah, uh, t-shirts and hoodies are good at that.”

You were still staring, mouth slightly agape, but it was pulling up at the corners, and there was a twinkle of something in your eyes that Peter couldn’t name. You shook your head ever so slightly, clearing your thoughts.

“I shouldn’t really be surprised. I mean, you have the personality of a superhero. But you hate gym class. You actually got one of the chemistry teachers to get you excused from it for special credit.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I got the powers.”

You nodded, but your eyes never really stopped taking in the fact that Peter Parker was in fact Spider-man. “Sorry. I’m staring. It’s rude, but it’s kinda hard not to, you know? Do you ever just, stand in front of the mirror and stare at yourself?”

“Uh, mostly to make sure I didn’t rip it or anything. Can’t risk my aunt walking in and seeing me in the suit.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. I don’t really stand around in mine either.” You looked at the ground and bit your lip. “So, you wanna grab some dinner or something and talk this out? I feel like knowing who each other is changes things.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that we could train together some? And maybe exchange info? And set up guidelines for what to say and not to say?”

“You’ve put some thought into this.”

“Well, superhero friends are hard to come by.”

You smiled and nodded. “I could use a friend to trust. Go change. Meet me outside my building in, say thirty minutes?”

“Sounds great.” He pulled his mask back on and walked towards you. “Hang on.”

“Wait, what? Ah!” You were falling towards the ground with Peter’s arm around your waist before you found the two of you being sling shotted back to the sky, then back down to land gently in the alley beside your building. Your breathing was coming hard and Peter was laughing. A full bellied, hand holding his stomach, doubled over, there were probably tears under his mask, laughter.

“You should see the look on your face.”

“You’re lucky you aren’t seeing my lunch on your shoes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Screams of apology* I uploaded this to tumblr AGES ago and I keep forgetting to add it here and I am SO SO VERY SORRY FOR THE PEOPLE THAT HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS


	16. Peter Parker - So Much For Essay Writing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4\. “C’mere, you can sit in my lap until I’m done working.” and 5. “I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.” ALSO I left the age a little ambiguous, so you could imagine them in either high school or college.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GENDER NEUTRAL READER
> 
> This was requested from [this prompt list](http://soimwritingstuff.tumblr.com/post/162564230610/more-sentence-starters) on tumblr, and y'all can request from it, too!
> 
> Also, I left the age ambiguous, so you can imagine that they are in high school or college to suit yourself!

          Peter had been hanging out with you while you worked. You had thought it would be a study date so you could both get work done. Things had not gone according to plan. He either had a lot less work than you, or was just not doing it, because he certainly wasn’t working on any homework. What he was doing was everything in his power to distract you from your work.

         “Peter, stop it.” You swatted his hand away as it hovered in your field of vision.

         “No. I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.” He said, pressing his finger into your cheek. Again.    

         “Peter!”

         He removed his finger and threw up his hands. When you couldn’t see him in you peripheral vision anymore you let you shoulders relax and you thought you were finally safe. Able to finish your essay in peace.

         Then you felt it. A finger pressing into the side of your neck, and its owner’s breath making the hair on the top of your head move ever so slightly. Your eyes narrowed and your neck stiffened.

         A weight slowly lowered itself on top of your head. Arms were draped on your shoulders. You kept your eyes focused on the computer screen, your fingers frozen in place over the keyboard.

         “Hey, sweetheart.” There was a smile in his voice and he tipped his head to kiss your forehead.

         “Peter.” Your voice was flat, but his arms just hugged you a little bit tighter.

         “Yeah, babe?”

         “Peter.”

         “What do you need my shnookums?”

         “I need to finish my essay. And you’re not helping.”

         “Y/N, you’ve got a week before the draft is due. Come on. I’m just asking for your undivided attention. Please?” He moved to rest his head on your shoulder.

         Glancing over at him you saw how he had exaggerated his pouty lower lip, and tried sending you the sad eyes. His puppy dog face was not going to work on you. It wasn’t.

         It wasn’t.

         You heaved a sigh and patted your thighs.

         “C’mere, you can sit in my lap until I’m done working.”

         “What?”

         “You heard me. Now come on. I use you as a chair all the time. What makes this any different?”

         “Uh, well I’m not exactly used to being on the other side of things.”

         “No time like the present.”

         “You’re serious.” His voice held disbelief, but it was also written across his face. His eyebrows were knitted together, and his mouth parted ever so slightly he tried to figure out exactly when his girlfriend went crazy.

         You patted your thigh again. “Just don’t get in the way of my typing.”

         He grinned and carefully sat down. It wasn’t that bad. You could reach around his lean frame to type. Except from this angle you could not see your computer screen at all.You tried to peak over his shoulder, but it was still too high. When he leaned to the side he put too much weight on one leg to be really doable. You squirmed under him, but it didn’t do any good.

         “This isn’t working is it?”

         “It’s not ideal.”

         “Alight.” He stood. “Stand up.” He pulled you to your feet and sat in your seat. This time he patted his thighs. “Now, you c’mere, and _you_ can sit in _my_ lap until you’re done working.”

         You smiled and let him turn you around and pull you into his lap. With your back pressed against his chest and his arms around your waist, holding you close, you could definitely get your work done. You typed for a bit, this time comforted by the feeling of Peter behind you, and his warm breath fanning out against your neck.

         He pressed a soft kiss to your jaw and buried his face in the crook of your neck. You chuckled and turned your head so he would look at you. He looked up from his position at your shoulder, a soft lazy smile spread across his face. You twisted your neck and kissed him until the position was just too uncomfortable to carry on.

         “So now you want to pay attention to me?”

         “I always want to. I just have other responsibilities. Like not failing this essay because my boyfriend was distracting me.”

         He looked at you sheepishly. “I love you.”

         “Yeah, yeah.” You tried to maintain a strong face, but caved when he threw wide eyes and a very fake quivering lip at you. “Ugh, you know I love you, too.”

         He beamed at you and hugged you tighter, peppering kisses along your cheeks and neck, wherever he could reach. You squealed with delight and tried to turn to kiss him back. Maybe your essay could wait just a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys! I haven't been writing much recently because being a senior, graduating, and looking for full time work really takes up a bunch of time, but please let me know what you think and if you want to request something!
> 
> Also, I just learned how to embed the link from [THIS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2425535) tutorial by @leftennant here on AO3!


	17. Tony Stark - Safe Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6\. “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.” Not requested, but I got the idea when filling an earlier request and I couldn’t let it go!
> 
> Female reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put this up on tumblr like a week ago and totally didn't realize I hadn't put it up here yet, I'm sorry, y'all.
> 
> You can still request from [THIS LIST](http://soimwritingstuff.tumblr.com/post/162564230610/more-sentence-starters) on here or on tumblr!

         He held you, but the grip wasn’t exactly comforting right then. The metal of his suit was hard as it pressed against you. With all the technology and computer systems working inside, the outside was warm, but not the warmth that was grounding. It was the kind of warm that made you wonder if you needed to shut down you computer so it didn’t overheat - had he included enough fans to keep the system cool?

         You gripped him tightly.

         No. You gripped the suit tightly.

         He landed gently, boosters shutting off, and suddenly it became much louder in your head. He set you down and immediately had the suit opening up so he could step out and pull you into his arms. He held you at arms length while his eyes raked over you. F.R.I.D.A.Y. had checked you over while he flew, examining for broken bones, cuts, bruises, or internal damage that he couldn’t see, and while he knew that you had no injuries that wouldn’t be solved with some ice, a couple pain killers, and sleep, he needed to see you with his own eyes, with nothing in-between you. He didn’t find anything - not that he really expected to since his tech hadn’t. You were okay.

         Physically.

         Then he saw the tears. The distant look in your eyes. You were looking right through him and it scared him. Your breathing had eased since he had first reached you, but now he could see it speeding up again, your chest rising and falling much too quickly for his comfort. He pulled you close and pressed your head to his shoulder. His other hand rubbed your back.

         “No, no, no, Y/N. Hey, hey, you’re okay. You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re okay. Don’t cry. I’m right here. We’re on the ground.”     “Tony.” Your voice was hoarse and cracked with the effort to speak. Your arms were heavy, but you managed to raise them enough to wrap around Tony’s waist lightly, too exhausted to do more.

         “I’m here. I’m right here.”

         He felt you slipping through his grip, so he hugged you tighter and slowly bent with you so you eased rather than collapsed to the ground like your knees seemed to want. You moved your arms around Tony’s shoulder’s. They were strong enough for both of you.

         “I thought-“ your voice warbled as you fought back a sob - “I thought that was it. That - that I was - that I was done.” You shook your head as the tears came forth and the hiccupping sobs forced their way out your throat. “I didn’t - didn’t - wasn’t ready. I have things to do.” You couldn’t speak anymore, the tears were coming harder and harder. Your fingers were digging into the back of his shoulders.

         “I know. I know. And you’re going to do all of those things. Every single one of them. You’ve got a ton of time to do it all. We’re going to do them together, alright? I promise. Okay? Do you believe me?”

         A nod against his shoulder.

         “Good. Good, we’re getting somewhere.” He stroked your hair. “Will you let me fly you home? Would that be okay?”

         A quick shake of your head.

         “That’s fine. I’ll get Happy to come pick us up then?”     A nod.

         “F.R.I.D.A.Y., call Happy. Tell him to bring the safest car we have.”

 

 

         Tony had taken you back to Avengers Tower instead of your apartment. He didn’t want you to be alone. He could have slept on your couch - he’d done it plenty of times before - but he also wanted you to be close to medical attention in case you hurt too much for your small stash of over the counter meds that made up your medicine kit.

         You were exhausted from the emotional and physical stresses of the day, but Tony had insisted that you take at least a short shower. It had made you feel a little better, to wash away the old tear tracks and sweat. The hot water eased your tense muscles. When you stepped out of the shower your “Avengers Tower” pajamas, that Tony had insisted you get for the nights when it was too late, or you were too tired to go home, were waiting for you, and a clean pair of underwear that you recognized, but couldn’t remember leaving at the Tower. You picked them up and a piece of paper, which had been hiding between the clothes, fell to your feet.

        

                   _I sent one of the suits to your apartment to get some stuff._ _Didn’t want you running around without clean undies.                                                                                     Toothpaste is in the top left drawer. Tell me if I forgot something._

_Love you,_

_Tony._

 

         It made you smile just a bit, that he’d thought to do that at all. You certainly hadn’t.

 

 

         He was waiting for you when you got out, sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked up when the door opened and you shuffled out. With a soft smile, he stood and opened his arms, and you walked right into them.

         After letting himself enjoy the security of having you in his arms, in one piece, in the safety of the Tower, he place a hand on your cheek and pulled away enough so he could look at you.

         “Whats say we get you to bed?”   You nodded and let him lead you to the head of the bed and pull back the blankets for you.

         “How many pillows do you want?”

         “Just one if it’s fluffy. Two if they’re flat.” Your throat was sore from the screaming, and then the crying, and then you had barely spoken at all, making it sound even more scratchy. Your request was still endearing to him though.

         “What kind of man do you take me for?” He pressed a hand to his chest in feigned offence. “I have only the fluffiest of pillows.”

         You smiled a little, and crawled in when he motioned for you to, like a chauffeur ushering a movie star into their limo. He pulled up the covers after making sure you were happy with how many you had.

         He smoothed a hand over your cheek. “Comfortable?”      “Very.”     “Good. I’m going to go check on some things, okay? You get some rest. I’ll be back before long.” He bent to kiss your forehead, and you grabbed his hand with both of yours and held on to it like it was a lifeline. You’d been okay knowing he was so close, but the Tower was so big that once he left the room, he might as well be miles away.

         “Please stay. Please.” Your voice came out as the tiniest whisper.

         Tony paused. He really wanted to check what the police were doing, to make sure that they’d arrested and charged the person who had pushed you off the roof of the building you had been looking into renting, to see if they had found a motive, an explanation of any kind.

         The hesitation only lasted a second.

         His lips pulled away from your forehead and were replaced by his own forehead. His nose rubbed against yours as he whispered back: “of course I’ll stay if you want me to.”

         He pulled back, but let his hand stay in your grip. “Can I change into bedclothes first, or do you want me as is?”

         “You can do what you need to do.”

         He really did not like how small you sounded, so he rushed through his routine. He’d just have to shower in the morning, but his face and teeth were clean, and those were the most important things anyway.

         When he came back in, sleep pants slung low on hips like usual, tank top exposing his muscular arms, you almost felt like you were having a normal sleepover. Like he was going to jump into bed and you would whisper throughout the night asking questions ranging from the silly to soul searching. Like he was going to remind you that he could always sleep on the couch, or in the spare room, if you were uncomfortable. Like you were going to fall asleep giggling over whatever outrageous thing he’d built most recently.

         He gently moved under the covers and let you move to him. You wanted him there, but he wasn’t sure how close you wanted him. During his panic attacks he wanted to see you, but the thought of you being close was terrifying. He was going to give you however much space you wanted.

         You had rolled over to his side immediately, almost before he was done getting in. You moved his arm so it was around you and you could curl against his side. One of your hands reached across his stomach for his free arm, and started twiddling with his fingers. He let you. It wasn’t new to him. It was an old habit, one you often did when you were thinking, or nervous, or anxious, or bored, or just wanted to know that he was close and was going to stay close. He wasn’t sure which, or how many, of those things were at the moment.

         “Do you want to talk about it?”

         He felt you shrug against him.

         “Or I can talk about something else and distract you. Or we can just not talk at all. I can find us something to watch. Or I can read to you. Ooo! I can get one of those constellation projectors and we ca-“ your hand covered his mouth.

         When you were certain he was going to stop talking, you moved your hand away and resumed playing with his hand.

         “Thanks, but I, I just don’t know. You said dating you was dangerous, that there are lots of people would be willing to hurt me to hurt you-“ you kept your eyes trained on your hand “-but that didn’t have anything to do with you. I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. look it up while you were in the bathroom. The woman who pushed me off thought I was the woman that her boss promoted over her. If you hadn’t been there, she would have…” You sniffled and willed your voice to keep working, just a little while longer. Tony’s fingers traced patterns on your arm, and he remained quiet, waiting for you to be ready to speak again.

         “I didn’t do anything to her. I didn’t even know her, but because I looked like someone she pushed me off a fifty story roof. There wasn’t any warning. No yelling. Just a sharp push and falling.” Tears burned your eyes. You abandoned his hand to toy with the seam on the shoulder of his tank. “I just don’t know how to feel safe anymore.”

         Tony shifted so he could wrap both of his arms around you, turning so that he was on his side, facing you.

         “I told you I was dangerous, but there is nothing I won’t do to keep you safe.”

         You tucked your head into his chest and moved in closer as you lost the ability to hold back your tears. The shock your body had gone through, the thoughts raging inside your head, your contrasting desires to sleep, to scream, to forget about everything were wearing you down, and you had nothing left to keep the tears at bay.

         His arms tightened around you and he tangled his legs with yours so you had as much body contact as possible in order to ground you. His hand moved to hold the back of your head, cradling it gently, and stroking your hair to relax you.

         “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go. You’re safe, Y/N. You’re safe.” He murmured as he tried to hush your crying. It broke his heart and he had no idea how to fix it, so he just whispered the truth over and over like a lullaby, until you fell asleep.

         “You’re safe. I’m not letting go.”

         “I’m never letting go.”

         “I’m always here for you.”

         “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've written a Tony pairing before this. Let me know what you think! Also, you can still request from this list, or send me your own ideas!


	18. Peter Parker - When You're in Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: 68. “I don’t need help! I just want the pain to stop!” and 74. “I can’t take the loneliness anymore.” - How would Peter react to knowing that you aren’t feeling like yourself?
> 
> Warnings: Depression, vague emotional pain, hurt/comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this one has been really hard to write, for a lot of (mostly personal) reasons, but I didn’t want to leave you waiting any longer, so I decided to try it in head cannon format, but with the same general outline I would have used for a fic. I wanted to make a Homecoming reference, but I know a lot of people still haven’t gotten to see it, so I changed it. No Spoilers! THIS IS SPOILER FREE!! (If you’ve seen it you’ll probably notice what I wanted to reference.)

  * You’ve been feeling… off… for some time now.


  * You think you know what to call it, but somehow giving it a name will make you have to deal with it, and you’re still sort of hoping that it goes away on it’s own


  * You’ve started skipping Debate Team meetings when you can, it started at about every third meeting, and now it’s every other meeting, and sometimes two in a row


  * Your friends are starting to worry, especially Peter


  * Because he’s the one that convinced you to join the team, and you’d been doing so great


  * He’s worried that Flash said something that made you uncomfortable


  * Michelle was observant and told him ‘Flash didn’t do anything this time. And it’s not just Debate Team meetings she’s missing’
    * Peter doesn’t have any classes with you, so he asks Ned to keep an eye on you for him
    * He doesn’t like what he hears
    * Ned tells him about how you aren’t interacting with people any more
    * How you rush from place to place to avoid unnecessary conversations


  * Peter starts to notice that you’re barely responding to his messages anymore, and you don’t answer phone calls
    * so he takes matters into his own hands


  * On one of the rare meetings you go to, Peter manages to leave with you
    * tells you he’s walking you home since it’s on his way to his “internship”
    * Confronts you gently about it, but rambles and annoys you in the process
    * “Please tell me whats going on? You’re acting strange. We’ve all noticed”
    * **The boy is bad at this**
    * “Y/N, we just really miss you. If somethings going on, or if someone has done something that makes you feel weird, just, you know, tell me, and we’ll fix it.”


  * “Just Stop it, Peter! I don’t need help! I just want the pain to stop! And no one can do anything to fix it because nobody did anything to break me!”
    * You’re crying and angry, and Peter doesn’t know what to do, so he just wraps his arms around you
    * He pats your shoulder as you cry
    * His shoulder is damp now


  * He takes you back to his apartment, since you were practically at the front door anyway
    * He makes you a warm beverage of your choosing, offering you practically every option - May likes tea, and he likes cocoa, so there’s a lot to pick from 


  * You finally tell him that nothing has been right for months and you don’t know why it started being like this
    * “I can’t take the loneliness anymore. Even when I’m around people I feel so alone because no one gets that I don’t feel like me anymore.”
    * Telling him how much you hate it that your parents have been telling you “well don’t be upset” and “you’ll feel better if you smile”
    * because that’s not what this is - it’s not a bad attitude


  * Peter being totally out of his depth because he’s not had to comfort someone like this before
    * But he’s smart and knows that therapy and medications - if you wanted those - are expensive
    * And he knows someone with a lot of resources 
    * only asks Tony for help if you give him the okay


  * Tells you that he’s always there for you, and he’ll always listen, or distract you, or do whatever you need


  * he’ll always answer when you call
    * even in his suit - he’s got it so your calls automatically come through


  * He encourages you to try to keep doing at least one after school activity,
    * you do, because on the hard days it helps to remember the good days and the best days were at team meetings
    * He hovers a little, just enough to make sure no one is making you uncomfortable
    * The rest of the team don’t worry as much because they know Peter will tell them if something is wrong


  * Peter texting you randomly to make sure you know that its okay to feel this way and that you’re not alone


  * him starting to slip notes in your bag when you aren’t looking with random doodles to make you smile


  * swings by on patrol to make sure you’re okay
    * will text you if he sees you crying
    * *randomly* showed up for a visit a couple times when you looked really distraught
    * you still don’t know how he always knows when you need him
    * But you know you can always count on him



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can still request from [THIS LIST](http://soimwritingstuff.tumblr.com/post/162564230610/more-sentence-starters)! Either on here or on tumblr!


	19. Steve Rogers - Lunch or Coffee?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 31\. “Wanna, like–I mean, if you’re not busy.. We could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don’t have a lot of time?”  
> Female Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Three updates in one day? Okay, this one was supposed to be posted today, the other two are late, my bad. 
> 
> Information about requesting in the after chapter notes!

          “Shared life experiences.” That’s what Steve had been looking for in a date. Or, at least what he’d been using as his excuse so far. Natasha thought carefully as she played Bejeweled on her phone, waiting for the others to come down for training. She just wanted to see Steve happy. He was drawing into himself and into his work. It wasn’t healthy. He needed to socialize with someone who wasn’t trained to do what they did. Hell, even she took time to be Aunt Natasha and have conversations with the random old ladies in the park from time to time.

         If she was going to help him, she was going to have to make it impossible for him to say no. She would back off if he genuinely asked her to, but maybe he thought she was just making playful banter to make the missions less boring. Maybe he didn’t realize that she was actually worried about him.

         Well, until he told her to stop, she’d just keep going.

         She beat the next level and started going through the list of people she knew, ones that weren’t in their… industry. That cut the pool by about 75%. She knew plenty of regular people for a myriad of reasons. Some she had befriended while undercover, some were sources of information, some were able to provide her with items she needed - legally and cleanly; some weren’t even friends, they were just people she saw regularly enough that she felt the need to know a bit about them: the barista at her favorite coffee place, the lady that worked at her dry cleaner, the guy at her grocery store that was the fastest at bagging her groceries without breaking her eggs or smooshing her bread. She was going to have to find a way to cut it down.

         The doors swung open, breaking her concentration and distracting her long enough that she would have to re-do that round. She set the phone, and her plans, aside for a moment. It was time to train.

 

 

         “Steve…tell me…when you say ‘shared life experiences’ are you talking about being experimented on…or…RAAAHHH…being a child during a major economic downfall?” She’d been ducking his swings but finally landed a solid one to his stomach.

         “What?” Steve paused at her question and she hit him again, this time on the back, and he went down. He rolled and stood again, defensive now that there was more distance between them.

         “You said it was hard to find, but people in their early to mid twenties have never seen a time when America wasn’t engaged in some sort of overseas conflict, they saw their parents lose a lot in the recession, they’re facing the greatest financial uncertainty of any generation, and are the first generation to have worse prospects upon entering the workforce than the generation before them. Seems to me you’ve got plenty to connect with on that front.”

         They continued to circle each other.

         “Not all of them have seen the things we’ve seen.”

         “No one has. No one should. Doesn’t mean you couldn’t give someone a chance.”

         He rushed her, picked her up. She twisted in his grip until she sat on his shoulders. He fell back. The impact knocked the air out her lungs. She flipped up and kicked him in shoulder. He stumbled back and eyed her hard.

         “How many soldiers have spouses who have had the same experiences as them?”

         Steve remained silent, waiting for her to either make her point or attack again.

         “Only the ones married to other soldiers. That narrows you down by a whole lot, Steve. It’s pretty much me or Maria, and I don’t think you’re her type.”

        “And how about you?” Steve cocked an eyebrow.

        Natasha was close enough that she spun, digging her elbow into his side just under his ribs, before kicking the back of his knee and pushing him down to his knees. She reached her around to put him in a choke hold.

         “I’m more of the solo type.” She said, right before he rolled, flipping her over his head.

         They were both exhausted. It was rare for either of them to win when they spared. So they laid on the mat, panting and sweaty, calling it a draw.

         “The solo type, huh? ‘Cause it looks to me like you’re part of a team.”

         “Business and personal, Rogers. Very different.”

He sighed. “No one deserves to be on the receiving end of this lifestyle. The waiting and wondering, the late nights and missed dinners. I’m not at a place where I can give someone enough time.”

         Natasha stood and held a hand out to Steve, who took it. When he was standing and she could look him in the eye, she didn’t let go.

         “It’s not about being in the right place in your life to give someone time, its about deciding that they’re worth making time for. You deserve to be happy, Steve. And this,” she gestured around them, “isn’t enough. You need more than work.”

         When he didn’t answer, she patted his arm and started to walk away. “Just think about it, please.”

         Steve stared after her. Maybe she was right. Work wasn’t enough, but

 

 

         Natasha was still worried about Steve, but she was choosing to give him some time for now. You can’t force a super soldier to date, so she was distracting herself from her Steve worries by doing too much online shopping. With a place she was comfortably settling into, she knew she had an address that was safe to have things delivered to, and she was taking advantage of the comfort she had rarely had in her somewhat chaotic life.

         She’d been called down to the lobby because her package had arrived. She wondered which one it was, hoping that it was the various avenger-themed pajamas she had ordered for her and the other ladies when slightly tipsy one night. She was eager to see everyone’s reactions at the next movie night. As she rounded the corner to the front desk, she saw something that made her immediately and quietly retreat a few steps so she could observe: Steve, chatting with the delivery woman, shoulders squared to show how big he was, but his face had a gentle smile, so as not to intimidate her.

         “Thank you for that. We’re not supposed to tell off people when we’re dressed for work.”

         “Well that’s just unreasonable, but I’m sorry about him; he’s new here, still on probation - won’t last if he does that again.”

         Natasha could see Steve glaring at a retreating figure. Probably told the guy off for being… not gentlemanly. Steve wasn’t nearly as good-two-shoes as they liked to tease him for, but he was nothing if not respectful of women.

         “Yeah, well, what can I say, everyone loves a uniform, right?” Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as soon as she said the words.

         Steve glanced down at his uniform. “You know, that’s what they when they were trying to get guys to sign up. Talked about how every girl would find you attractive once you were in those army greens.”

         “Did they?”

        Steve chuckled and scratched the back of his head. “Uh, I guess. Certainly didn’t hurt.”

         You chuckled and Steve chuckled with you, hoping his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “I remember Bucky asking if I was keeping the original cap uniform, the one for shows, it had tights and everything. I hated it.”

         “I don’t know. I’ve seen some of the footage. You looked good. It probably isn’t very practical for what you do, but you could definitely rock that to a nightclub. You’d probably get free drinks all night.”

         Steve laughed. A real laugh that made his cheeks hurt and his eyes twinkle. “Oh goodness,” he wheezed out as he started to calm down, glad to notice that you’d been laughing just as hard, “I’ve not laughed like that in a long time.”

         “Me either,” you admitted, glancing down at the ground when you felt the awkwardness settle over you.

         Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Wanna, like–I mean, if you’re not busy.. We could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don’t have a lot of time _?_ ”

         Your eyes widened in surprise, but you smiled. “Well, I’ve got deliveries the rest of the day, but I’ve got some time for coffee tomorrow.”

         “Oh, yeah that’s great. Uh, what time is good for you?”

        “How does two sound? I could also do four.”

         “Four works for me. How about that little shop in town? The one across from the square?”

         “With the potted plants everywhere?” Steve nodded and your smile widened until it hurt. “Great! I’ll see you then.” You waved as you turned to leave.

         “Yeah. See you then.” Steve smiled, utterly pleased with himself. He had a date, with absolutely zero meddling from anyone. Unless you counted the fact that it had been Natasha’s package that he signed for, which he didn’t. He also had no plans on telling her about it until the date had happened, mostly to see the look of shock on her face when he told her.

         “Good job, Steve.” Natasha smirked as she walked over to the desk and picked up her package. “Now we just have to decide what you’re wearing.”

         “What? You saw that? How long were there?”

         “Long enough. Come on. We’ve got outfits to try on.”

         “I think I can handle that myself.”

         “And you’re thinking wrong. Come on, Cap. You’ve got less than twenty-four hours to prepare. And I’m good with rush jobs.” Natasha walked away, knowing that Steve would eventually follow. And he did, shaking his head and wondering what he did to deserve such a friend, and if he was cursed or blessed for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can still request from [this link](http://soimwritingstuff.tumblr.com/post/162564230610/more-sentence-starters) either on here or on my tumblr @soimwritingstuff
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Your kudos and comments mean so much to me!


	20. Peter Parker - The Talk™

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 22.“No, you can’t get up! You’re my prisoner for today!” 57. “It isn’t up for debate.” 93. “Move your hands to the side. I want to hear you.” SPOILER FREE!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMERS: So Peter’s ~15 in the current MCU version, and I’m over 18, but I know that a lot of the people reading Peter Parker fics are closer to his age, and use fics as a way to explore things safely without actually doing anything with another person in real life (been there, done that), so there are definitely some sexual themes in this for that reason. I wrote it this way because I wish that I had read something like this when I was going through puberty and experiencing a lot of changes and wanted to understand things but was too shy to ask and didn’t want to actually try anything. 
> 
> LET ME BE CLEAR: I do not condone sexualising minors in any way, shape or form. The “You” character is meant to be Peter’s age. Please, if you are a teenager, be careful about decisions with your body, and be safe (especially if someone is older than you), and remember that while sex is not evil, it comes with a lot responsibilities (wrap it up to stay safe). I’m not an expert by any means, but if you want to talk about something, let me know and if I can’t help I’ll help you find resources that can.

          It had been a normal day: sun shining, birds chirping. You and Peter had completed your early morning training, and were supposed to be spending some time studying, doing homework, being good students. He had come to your room with an armload of books that had almost immediately been forgotten in favour of cuddling with you on your bed.

         It had been almost an hour of cuddling and talking when he started shifting. You knew he was going to make a move to get up soon. As much as he enjoyed being a couch potato like your average teen, he could never stay still for too long before the need to be at least somewhat productive took over. You blamed it on his enhanced senses. If everything was dialled up, then it would be hard to just relax for a prolonged amount of time.

         He tried to get up and you hugged him tighter.

         “Come on,” he tapped on your arms, “let me up.”

         “No, you can’t get up! You’re my prisoner for today!”

         “Babe, I need to look over those schematics Mr. Stark sent me.”

         “Not right now, you don’t.” You tilted your head so you could kiss him. He kissed back immediately. It was a short kiss, but definitely convincing.

         “Sweetheart.” He was trying to chastise you, but you both knew it wasn’t going to work. When you went in for another kiss he met you halfway, and all the fight in him was gone.

         Making out with Peter had a typical rhythm to it that you very much enjoyed. The start was usually slow and soft, before becoming more heated. You’d hold each other close, enjoy each other’s warmth, the feel of your bodies being pressed against one another. When you broke for air and made eye contact, you almost always broke out into giggles because of how Peter’s hair got messed up, and how his skin flushed from the intensity of it all. Peter would join you, because you weren’t much better. After that you’d usually get one more small pack on the lips before turning back to whatever you were supposed to be doing.

         Had that happened it would have continued to be a normal day.

         That was not what happened. 

         This time when you broke for air, you couldn’t stop giggling. Peter’s hair was messed up from cuddling and from you running your hands through it. He couldn’t give you that little peck like he always did. But he is nothing if not resourceful - he did build his first suit after all- so he just switched body parts. He kissed down your neck, his hands firmly gripping your hips, holding you close to him. It made you giggle for an entirely different reason. One of your arms wrapped around his shoulders, the over held on to his strong arm. He finally moved down, hands pushing your shirt up so he could kiss along your stomach, just above the waist band of your pants. His lips were gentle against the delicate skin and the thought of how close he was to other areas made you moan, which you quickly muffled with your hands.

         You felt him smile and shake his head against your stomach, before propping his chin on your hip to look up at your face.

         “Move your hands to the side, sweetheart. I want to hear you.” What was left unsaid was that it was purely for his own reassurance. _I want to know that you like what I’m doing._

“But what if they hear us?”

         “Don’t worry. These walls aren’t as thin as home.” You’d never done this at Peter’s apartment because the thought of May catching you was horrifying, but that didn’t mean one of your teammates catching you was any better.

         “That doesn’t mean they’re sound pro-ooOOoof.” You lost control of your voice as Peter sucked on the skin just above your hip bone, teeth nipping gently, tongue laving at what would surely be a respectable bruise.

         He chuckled against your skin. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

        You buried your hands in his hair and let him continue kissing and marking up your stomach. You didn’t know what had happened to Peter’s usually nervous disposition when it came to physical intimacy, but this confidence was undeniably sexy.

         You pulled him back up and kissed him deeply, pushing your body up against his, and feeling very smug when you heard his own noise of surprise and pleasure, muffled only by your lips.

         You moved so you could kiss along his jaw, up to his ear, to bite down gently on his earlobe.

         He sighed your name softly, before pressing kisses to your collarbone - the only thing he could reach - hands tracing down your sides once again. Eventually, he pulled away and repositioned himself so he was laying between your legs, arms bracing himself so he was hovering over you, lips connected with yours, giving you gentle teasing kisses.

         There was a sharp knock on your door that made you jolt into a sitting position, knocking heads with Peter and dislodging him from his position. You locked eyes; his were wide with worry, and you were sure yours matched. It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to hang out in each other’s rooms, but there’s something about a knock coming at just the wrong time that makes you assume you’ve been caught.

         “Y/N? Peter? Come on out to the living room. We’ve got some things to discuss.” Clint’s voice was slightly muffled by the door. It made your heart race in an entirely different way.

         You took a deep breath and tried to hide how shaky your voice was. “Okay, yeah, we’ll be right there.”

         You glanced at Peter, whose eyes were shut, mumbling to himself.

         “Baseball, snakes, those weird shoes with the toes in them.”

         “Peter? What are you doing?”

        “Trying to get this to go away,” he said, motioning downward.

         “Ohhhhh.” You decided to leave him to it and went to check yourself in the mirror. You straightened out your hair quickly and made sure your clothes were hanging straight.

         “I’m going to head out. Take your time. I’ll say you’re finishing typing something up.”

         “Thank you.” His eyes were still shut.

         With that you left the room, pulling your door closed as you went.

 

 

         “Where’s Spider-kid?”

        “Finishing up some typing.”

         Clint nodded. Scott was twiddling with phone, flipping it around in his hands. Beyond that the living room was empty.

         “So, where are the others?”

         “They’ve decided to leave this to me. And Scott.”

         You glanced between the two men. “Why? What’s going on?”

        The two glanced at each other. Clint looked like he was urging Scott to speak up, and when Scott looked like he was about to speak when Peter walked in.

         “He guys, what I miss?”

        “Sit down, Peter. Neither of you are leaving this room until we get some things clear, alright?” Clint paused while you both nodded. “Neither of us - “ he motioned between him and Scott - “want to do this, but the others think you need to hear and since we’re technically the only parents in the group, we’re the ones that have to do it.”

         Your brain was frozen but your heart was racing again. Oh No. Not the sex talk. Typical sex talk intro, given by the two dads in the group. No. No. No. This was not what you signed up for. You’ve already gotten this talk. You didn’t need it again. You were never going to be able to look any of your teammates in the eye again.

         “Don’t look so scared. We’re just going to go over some things, for your own benefit, okay?” He sighed. “Okay?”

        “Okay,” you said, voice soft and meek.

         “Yeah,” Peter mumbled.

         “Scott?”

         He looked slightly alarmed, but nodded. “Right, okay, yeah, so my kid is too young for this talk, so I’ve not practiced this before. But, okay, look guys, you’re both smart kids, but… intimate relationships are not something that can just be manoeuvred with intelligence. There are some things you can’t just figure out on your own.”

         “Um, if I’ve already had the talk, can that count as my credit and not have to be here for this?”

         “No. This isn’t up for debate. You’re going to sit here, and we’re going to discuss, because your both kids, and we, as the adults who are responsible if you get yourselves into trouble, need to make sure that you know what you need to know.” Clint said, his voice making it clear that there would be no escape. “Like protection. You gotta talk to your partner and your doctor to figure out whats right for you. You know, if its medication, or condoms, or whatever. There’s a lot of options.” And from there on out it was like watching a tennis match, and your attention bounced from one to other as information poured forth.

        “And always get tested, and make sure your partner gets tested.” Scott wagged his finger. That was one of his big things.

         “And consent. Get verbal consent. And don’t have sex with someone if they’re drunk or high.” Clint had already drilled that into his own son’s head. All his kids knew to ask if their friends were okay with any contact, even the ones who were too young for the sex talk.

         “And clothing does not equal consent either.”

         “And a person has a right to say no and stop sex at any time.”

         “Well, technically women don’t in the state of North Carolina.” Scott glanced at Clint who was glaring at him and quickly corrected himself. “It’s a really stupid legal loophole. But you should still respect your partner, even if the law doesn’t.”

         You weren’t sure if they were being blunt so they could hurry through it, or if they were just not as embarrassed by it as most parents were. Your parents hadn’t been this thorough. They’d mostly encouraged you not to have sex because teenage boys were “only interested in one thing.” Way to contribute to hyper-masculinity.

         “So, do you have any questions?” Scott smiled at you both.

         Nope, you were good. Could you leave yet?

         “Um, why are you giving us this talk now?”

         DAMNIT PETER!

         The men exchanged another glance.

         “Well, you know, we know that you two are… um…” Scott looked as uncomfortable as you felt.

         “We know you’re together and we want to make sure you remain the youngest members of the team.” Tony said, scaring you as his head popped in-between you and Peter. Both of you jumped to the side, nearly falling off the couch in the process.

         “Jeez! Okay, okay. Use protection, get tested, get consent, we got it. Can we go now?”

         Tony looked at the Team Dads, and when they nodded he said yes.

         You sprung out of your seat and rushed out of the room, Peter close behind you, as you hurried to the sanctity of your room.

 

 

         Once in the comfort of your room, you flopped down into your desk chair. Peter collapsed into the beanbag next to you. You glanced at each of for the first time since your escape and when you locked eyes, you immediately started to laugh - the exhausted chuckle of teenagers who had no other way to express their total bewilderment at ‘what the fuck was that?’ without having to muffle screams in a pillow.

         When the laughter died down, you were left looking at a shifting Peter. He twisted his face and gnawed on his lower lip. He glanced down, eyebrows furrowed, mouth opening and closing like a fish, as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say. You could figure out where it was going, so you helped him out.

         “We need to talk about… what we almost did.”

         At the sound of your voice his head snapped up. “Yeah.” He nodded. “Look, can I just say that I’m really sorry. I never want to pressure you into anything and I should have like asked if you were okay with what I was doing.” Peter’s mind had been racing since Clint had talked about verbal consent. He’d never actually asked if you were okay with what he had been doing.

         “It’s okay. I enjoyed it, like, really enjoyed it, but… I think that’s as far as I’m comfortable going right now. I’m just not ready for that.”

         He nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

         “Are you comfortable with that? What do you want?”

        “Y/N, I,” he paused and took a deep breath, “I do like getting to be close to you, and even if you never wanted to go further, that - that wouldn’t change anything for me.”

         “Okay,” you nodded absently, processing what he just said, “so we’re cool?”

         He nodded and offered you a small smile. You smiled back and stood, grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet.

         “Come on,” you pulled him toward your bed, “let’s waste the rest of the day watching youtube videos and cuddling.”

         “We’ve already tried cuddling once today.” He winked at you and you gently smacked his chest.

         “That only got derailed when you tried to leave. Now come on,” you settled against the pillows, resting your feet on his legs, “Ned sent me a video he wants us to watch.”

         “Why is he sending you stuff instead of me? He’s supposed to be my best friend!” He adjusted so he could but his arm around your waist and rest his head on your shoulder while you let the video load on your phone.

         You shrugged and made room for his arm behind you. “I guess he just loves me more.”

         “Totally not fair,” he pouted.

         “But I love you.”

         He smiled and kissed your cheek. “Thanks. Love you, too.”

         “As you should.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So someone from AO3 requested a fic with prompt 7 from [this list](http://soimwritingstuff.tumblr.com/post/162835166767/more-sentence-starters), but did not mention which character they had in mind, and they haven't replied to the post I made on tumblr about it, so if you see this, please message me about it! If not I'll just pick a character I haven't written for yet! (Clint, Sam, Thor, Bruce, and the all the ladies need some love!)
> 
> ALSO: Thank you for all of your kudos and comments! And all of your requests (which can still be made from the list above or you can think of your own)!


	21. Bucky Barnes - Post-Nightmare Cuddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anon on tumblr: : 6. “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.” with female reader has a nightmare and dearest Bucky is there to help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So picking a nightmare was hard, so I went generally with failure. I am a millennial in this shitty job market who might have to live at home til I can find a job and THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH IT. However, I used my fear of never being able to escape my hometown (which is tiny and boring and filled with hateful old people) as the basis for this nightmare, which should explain why I went the way I did. IF YOU NEED TO LIVE WITH YOUR PARENTS BECAUSE THE JOB MARKET IS SHIT, THEN THERE IS NO SHAME AT ALL IN THAT. Just wanted to make sure no one took that the wrong way.

         It was a wonderfully relaxing night. You had cracked open the windows so you could hear the storm raging outside, relaxed in your armchair by the window with a constant supply of warm beverages and a good book. It had been ages since you’d been so at ease. You had your phone nearby, but knew no one would be in touch unless there was an emergency.

         It was Boys’ Night, so Steve and Bucky and Sam were hitting up the town, seeing how many girls they could get to flirt with Steve, the usual. Bucky had told you he would text you when they got back in, like you usually asked him to do. That habit you had started in college, when you needed to make sure your friends made it home safe, and you didn’t need to call the police. There was nothing the police could handle that those three couldn’t, but it still made you feel better knowing that they were home safe.

         You were just snuggling under the covers at one in the morning. Knowing you wouldn’t be able to finish your book then anyway, you finally admitted defeat to your burning eyes that were begging for relief.

 

**Y/n: Headed to bed. You can still text me when you get home.**

**Bucky B.: Alright. Won’t be out too much longer. Steve is getting tired of all the flirting.**

**Y/N: Can’t wait to hear about it. Goodnight.**

**Bucky B.: Goodnight. Sleep tight. Don’t let the superheroes bite.**

**Y/N: You’re the only one that does that.**

**Bucky B.: ;-)**

**Y/N: I hate that Wanda taught you that.**

**Bucky B.: You love me.**

 

 

         You shook your head, but couldn’t stop the grin from spreading over your face. Yeah, you did. With that, you set your alarm for the next morning, and drifted off to sleep.

 

_You were in the conference room at work, presenting a new idea for a book. It was one you’d been working on for a while, but never seemed to be able to finish. The room loved it, until:_

_“With each chapter having so much going on, I recommend having a time line per chapter, then one large fold out time line near the bass, excuse me, near the back.”_

_“I think we’ve heard all we need to, thank you, Miss.”_

_“I still have half the proposal…”_

_“And you’d waste more of our time. If you can’t even get out a sentence without messing up, why would you be able to produce a solid idea?”_

_The room spun and twisted, like food colouring being swirled into vanilla icing. You were falling, falling, falling, a giant red letter “F” falling ontop of you. It was falling faster than you, catching up, ready to crush you. It got smaller as it got closer, and when it hit you, it sunk into your forehead like a brand._

_You landed at your parents front door, your dad unpacking your trunk, your mom holding open the door, politely not saying anything about the scarlet letter above your nose._

_“It’s okay that you couldn’t make it in New York. You can always live in the basement. I hear there’s an opening at your old high school. You know Ronny’s son works there. You graduated together, right?”_

_The scene went dark as you dragged your feet through the front door and you walked into your aunt and uncle’s for Thanksgiving._

_You aunt hugged you. “We’re glad you’re back. New York was a but far fetched, wasn’t it?”_

_“This is the place for you. More space, fewer of those weirdos that might try to turn ya’.” Your uncle said, putting his arm around your shoulders as your cousins descended._

_“And, sweetie, don’t worry about it, red was always a good color on you.”_

_“I know a good foundation, if you want to try it. Won’t hide something that big completely, but it should fade it out a bit.”_

 

 

         When your eyes shot open you immediately closed them. Looking into the darkness of your room wasn’t comforting, even if it was familiar. You tried to even your breathing, coaching yourself mentally.

         It was just a dream.

         None of it was real.

         It can’t be real.

         You’re smart and competent and good at what you do. No one would turn down a proposal that good because your tongue slipped. Your family wouldn’t talk to you like that - well actually - Your parents at least wouldn’t talk to you like that.

         Nothing was going to happen. Your life was going to be mundane, with typical work successes and no major upsets unless you had a shitty coworker who dumped their work on you. A fixable problem. That’s what your life would be.

         If something were to happen it would be because of the economy, or the company being bought out - things well above your pay grade that you had no control over. Nothing like that can happen to you because you’re too normal. Just like you can never be abducted by aliens because you have all your teeth and don’t live near a corn or wheat field.

         Your self-comfort did not work. You were still breathing much too heavily, and you couldn’t seem to unwind yourself from the tight ball that you had curled into in your sleep. The darkness, that was usually peaceful and lulled you to sleep, was compressing you. You felt around for your phone and finally grabbed it from under the pillow.

         2:09

         The digital readout on your lock screen mocked you. How had you only managed an hour of sleep when your nightmare seemed to last for days? Did you read it wrong? Maybe it actually said 6:15?

         2:10

         Nope. Your phone really was mocking you. But you noticed the little envelope in the corner. Unlocking you phone and tapping, you read the text from Bucky.

 

         **Bucky B.: Hey, we’re headed back. Taking a cab from Brooklyn, so it’ll be a while before we’re back at the Tower. I’ll shoot you a text then.**

 

         It was time stamped for 1:57.

         You twisted your face as you thought, making sure that as much of you stayed safely under the covers as physically possible. There was no way they’d be back at the Tower yet, even with the lighter traffic in the middle of the night, and they would have to go by your apartment to get to the Tower…

         Were you really that weak?

         Yes, yes you were.

 

         **Y/N: Will you come by my apartment? If you haven’t already past it? Don’t go out of your way.**

 

         You flicked your bedside lamp on. It had started as such nice night. Now you were squinting your eyes at the bright light that broke up the oppressing darkness that was your life. You would have rolled your eyes at your own dramatics if you weren’t so shaken.

 

         **Bucky B.: Almost there.**

 

         You knew you shouldn’t think of it as being weak. You and your friends had an understanding that you could always call and whoever was available would answer - knowing that sometimes someone wouldn’t be able to be reached. Bucky would undoubtably say the same thing. He would also get out of bed and run across Manhattan to get to you if you asked. It was a comfort to know that you always had someone to call if you needed it, and you had certainly entertained the idea - if only briefly - to call him to pick up pizza when you were too lazy to do it yourself.

 

         **Y/N: You got your key, or do I need to buzz you up?**

**Bucky B.: I got it. You okay?**

**Y/N: I just really don’t want to be alone right now.**

**Bucky B.: Hang tight.**

 

         It seemed like forever until you head your front door open, followed by footsteps and the door closing, and the definite thunk of the deadbolt being slid back into place. In reality, your near obsessive phone-checking told you it had only been three minutes. Checking your phone, your email, your Facebook notifications, over and over hadn’t been enough to keep you from thinking about your dream, but the steady footsteps in your hallway were.

         “Y/N?”

         “I’m in the bedroom!” You shouted to be heard through your closed bedroom door.

         He gently opened the door and leaned against the doorway. His eyes moved over you, assessing the situation.

         “You can come in. This isn’t a booty call.”

         He chuckled and moved further into the room, kicking the door shut because he knew if he didn’t that you’d tell him to shut it the second he sat down.

         “Wanna tell me what happened?”

         You shook your head. That question alone was enough to refill your head with images from the dream. The big red “F” falling down on you, the shameful hung heads of your friends, the relatives’ mocking you. It was silly, but it was terrifying. Everything that you had worked so hard for, bring ripped out from underneath because of a stupid mistake. Because you weren’t good enough. Because you could fail all too easily.

         The tears welled in your eyes and/or lower lip trembled. You worked to keep it steady but failed.

         “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What can I do to fix it?” He rushed to your side and sat next to you on the bed.

         You just shook your head again, because if you opened your mouth you would start crying and you were trying so hard not to. It didn’t work. The sob stuck in your throat any way and the tears leaked out despite your best efforts.

         Bucky wrapped his arms around you, holding you to his chest and stroking your hair with his right hand. **“** Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

         He was patient while you cried, and tried multiple times to tell him what had you so unhappy. Eventually he managed to figure out that you were saying: “It was so scary, Bucky.”

         “What was so scary? Monsters? That drink guy that bursts through walls? That’d scare me, too.”

         “I - I failed. I had to go back home, and everyone mocked me.”

         “What?”

         “And I had a big “F” on my head.”

         “…Like the Scarlet Letter? You’ve been reading too much classic lit, doll.”

         “It’s not funny.”

         “I know, I know. I just want to make you smile. And I know you’re scared of failure. It’s a scary thing. But, Y/N, you’re a hard working, skilled, talented person. You’re not going to fail.”

        “People like that fail all the time. Just because you work hard doesn’t guarantee anything.”

         He sighed. She was right. “True, but if that happens, you aren’t going to be marked, and your family won’t mock you. You’ll dust yourself off and get right back up. And if you have to, you’ll come stay with me. Tony loves you, and Steve and Sam keep wanting you to come with us on Guys’ Night. You’d be a better wingman for Steve than either of us have been.”

        You chuckled lightly. “You’re just a little old school for the club scene these days, Buck. If y’all would go to a speakeasy, you’d both have men and women hanging off of you. You could have your pick.”

         “And Sam?”

        “Sam can always get whomever he chooses. He’s all suave and smooth like that.”

         “And what am I? chopped liver?”

         “You’re a spoken for man, James.”

        He smiled down at you. “Got that right.” He squeezed your shoulders and shifted so he could toe off his shoes and settle in a little more.

         “You’ve got some t-shirts and sweats here. They’d be more comfy.”

        “Right when I get settled.” He chuckles and gets up.

         You curl into the warm spot he vacated. That’s where he finds you when he returns from the bathroom, blue plaid lounge pants slung low on his hips, black tank stretched and showing his muscles.

         “Come on, sit up, you can’t have all the bed. I’ve got to sleep somewhere.”

         You grunt at him.

         “Doll, you gotta. I even brought you a warm washcloth to wipe your face with,” Bucky tells you in a sing-song voice.

         You hesitate another moment before pushing yourself into what might be considered a sitting position. The icky tight feeling of tear tracks down your face has always been one of your least favourite parts of crying. That and the red eyes, and headache, and puffy face. None of it was pleasant really. And the washcloth definitely helped.

         When you were done he put in the dirty clothes hamper for you and crawled under the covers. He had taken to sleeping on his back. It worked well for you, because you could sleep on your stomach and use his arm or shoulder or stomach as a pillow. His chest was too buff to be comfortable, and his metal arm was a bit too hard for you to fall asleep on.

         Once he was in, you reached over and turned the lamp back off. As usual, you cuddled against his side and his arm pulled protectively around you.

         “I love you, Y/N. You’re the most amazing person I know. And that’s saying something, cause I know Captain America, and like, five guys that can fly. And a girl that can fly.” Bucky’s voice was a whisper. He always felt that the dark was for whispering, trading secrets, and soft laughter.

         “Thanks, Bucky. I love you, too. Thank you for coming.” You whispered back.  “Anytime you need me, I’m here.”

         You smiled into the darkness. “How was it tonight? Did you have fun?”     “Yeah, it was good. Tony Stark’s name will get you in a lot of places when he randomly drops by in his suit.”

        “What?”

         “Yeah. We keep inviting him out, and he keeps saying he’s busy, then he’ll swoop down, get us into a cool club, and fly off again.”

         “Wonder why he won’t just go out with you?”

        “I think he’s trying to drink less and sleep more for Pepper. It’s good for him, too, but he’d rather say he’s doing it for her.”

         “Makes sense. They’re good for each other. Balance each other out.”

        He hums softly in agreement.

         “What else did you do?”

         “Want me to tell you what Sam did to Steve?”

        You nodded against his side.

         “Sam really wants Steve to at least flirt with someone, just so he can prove he’s got some moves. But I can tell ya, Steve’s never been one to flirt, even when when he was punching Hitler every three days and surrounded by showgirls.”

         “That was your thing, huh?” You gave him a small smirk, despite your sniffle.     “I wasn’t a flirt. I was charming. There’s a difference.”

         “Oh yeah? And what is it? The decade we’re talking about?”

        “No, smartass-“ he chuckled but ruffled your hair “-it’s class and sincerity. You want me to tell you what happened, or not?”

        “Go on, oh charming one.”

         He giggled and hugged you closer to him.

         You fell asleep listening to the sound of his deep voice whispering gently, making sure you knew that he was there for you, and that with him, you were always safe. Even from your own fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gotten so much awesome feedback on this collection, thank you all so much! Every kudos, and ESPECIALLY the comments mean so much to me! You can request something either here or on tumblr @soimwritingstuff.tumblr.com!


	22. Thor - Shower vs. Bed (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 87\. “They always make shower sex sound so appealing, but honestly, this is getting dangerous.” With Thor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Pharm! Thanks for requesting Thor, I hadn't gotten to write him yet, so I hope this does him justice!
> 
> So I did another prompt with this format and I really liked it, so I wanted to do it again to see what I could do with it. If you would prefer a story format, just let me know and I’ll take this and transform it a little!

  * Thor coming by to surprise you
  * He brought pizza
  * It’d had been a awhile since you’d gotten to see each other
  * He’d been busy in Asgard
  * You’d had a ton of work piling up and family stuff to deal with
  * You ate and watched garbage tv while catching up 
    * “I missed you so much. Asgard is beautiful, but when I’m with you, I am home.”
    * “You’re killing me, Thor.”
    * “Oh no! I shall have to resuscitate you!”
    * He gave you a sloppy kiss that supposedly “brought you back to life.”
    * “I have never done anything more heroic than saving my love!”
    * “Damnit, Thor!”
  * You had your legs thrown over his lap, he had an arm around your shoulders
  * It made eating a little difficult, but it was worth it
  * The pizza and tv were abandoned when he kissed your jaw, just below your ear 
    * It was one of your weak points
  * You made it to the bedroom, a trail of clothes behind you
  * You had him on the bed, on his back 
    * That was actually relatively common
    * He liked seeing you on top of him
    * Because you make him feel weak anyway
    * So you being on top of him feels right
  * Leaving marks down his neck and chest
  * You loved that you were able to leave hickies on a demigod
  * He stopped you
  * You felt a little put out
  * Until he pulled you into the bathroom and turned on the water to warm it up 
    * “You know, I’ve been travelling, and I want you to have me when I’m clean.”
    * “And it is tradition for a traveller to be welcomed home by being bathed by his lover.”
    * “I’m not sure if your being serious or just trying to convince me to join you in there, but either way, you don’t have to try so hard.”
    * He just winked at you and stepped under the spray
    * You joined about five seconds later
    * Shower sex had been on your list of things to try
  * At first you really were washing each other 
    * Shampooed each other’s hair
    * Washed each other’s backs
    * Then both of your hands started wandering
  * His hands slipped lower and you reacted _immediately_
    * If the steam from the shower didn’t fog up the bathroom mirror your kisses sure would have
  * He picked you up and wrapped your legs around his waist
  * Presses your back against the tile wall, the spray from the shower head still hitting both of you
  * He’s still using his hands on you 
    * You’re just trying to hang on
    * Hands fisted in his hair
  * You pull a little too hard 
    * He slipped but caught himself
    * Hung on tight to you
    * Your leg slipped because you wanted to steady yourself
    * Which meant you pitched backwards and hit your head
  * He set you down and holds onto your shoulders as he looks you over for injuries 
    * “Are you alright, my dear?”
    * You nod. “You?”
    * He nods
    * “They always make shower sex sound so appealing, but honestly, this is getting dangerous.”
    * He laughed. “Shall we move this back to the bedroom? We have a good track record in there.”
    * “That we do. Lead the way.”
  * You picked up where you left off
  * This time you were pinned against a soft bed rather than hard tile 
    * His hands stayed occupied the entire time
    * He’s a hands on person in general
    * He rocked your world
    * His favorite part was when you yelled his name in-between a bunch of swear words - some that he taught you
    * And you definitely rocked his
    * The only proof of that you have is that he was unable to say anything but your name followed by “please”
  * When you were done he got up and brought you a warm wash cloth to clean off with
  * Asked to be the little spoon when you cuddled
  * You woke up with his hair in your face 
    * But with the way he held your hand you weren’t really upset about it
  * You fell back asleep
  * Okay, maybe shower sex wasn’t exactly crossed off your list
  * But you certainly hadn’t been left unsatisfied
  * And you could be satisfied any time you wanted



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for leaving kudos and comments! They really make my day and motivate me to write more! That's why you're seeing more updates recently, I've not only had time, but the feedback to keep me writing!


	23. Wanda - Movie Day Gone Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7\. “What? Does that feel good?” (Fluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so the lovely anon the requested this never got back to me about who they wanted this to be written with, so I made this female reader with Wanda, since I’ve not gotten to write for her yet, and I don’t write enough wlw!

         You were lying with your head in her lap. Her fingers moving through your hair. You weren’t really certain how you’d gotten here.

         It had definitely started with no one else wanting to join the two of you watching _Kingsman: Secret Service_. You had taken over the couch, had snacks spread all over the coffee table, and piled up more pillows and blankets than you could possibly need.

         She had decided to make it a pajama party, and at two in the afternoon, you were comfortably relaxing in your Thor pajama bottoms and a white tank, while Wanda wore a purple set that Clint had given her. He claimed she needed other colors in her wardrobe besides black and red.

         It had been great. Pausing the movie occasionally to add your own commentary and crack jokes, before resuming.

         Now, nearly halfway through the movie, you had shifted from sitting next to each other with your feet thrown up on the couch next to you, to lying down, swaddled in a blanket, using Wanda’s thigh as a pillow. She had started absentmindedly stroking your hair and scratching your scalp.

         You snuggled deeper into your position and accidentally let out a satisfied hum without even realizing it.

         “What? Does that feel good?”

         “Mmhmm.”

         She giggled.

         “When you have shorter hair people don’t play with it as much.”

         “Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” She was biting back her laughter for the sake of the drama.

         You hummed in agreement. “Definitely not. It’s a tragedy.” You grinned, hoping she wouldn’t be able to see it form her angle.

         Wanda knew you were smiling, and it made her heart swell in her chest. This kind of touch was not uncommon between friends, but she had not seen you allow yourself to relax quite like this with the others. At least not when more of the group were hanging out together. She hoped it was a sign that you could become something different from friends.

         You glanced over your shoulder at her. She was smiling down at you and you felt a warm tingling everywhere. Her smile could light up a cave.

         “Wanda?” You turned to face the TV before you spoke.

         “Yeah?”

         “This might sound bad, but I’m glad the others didn’t want to watch this with us.”

         “Oh? Why is that?”

         “I um, I really like getting to spend time with you.”

         When she didn’t respond your body tensed, worried that she might not feel how you did. You only stiffened more when you felt her lean over you. The urge to look up at her was too much, even though you were scared of her reaction.

         “I enjoy spending time with you, too. Maybe we could it again? Just the two of us?”

         You fought to keep your smile from giving away how eager you were. You nodded and sat up.

         “I know this great little diner that has great fries and pie that’ll change your life. We could get dinner there tomorrow, if you want.”

         “That sounds wonderful.”

         “Great!”

        

 

 

         “Did she ask her yet?” Tony asked, keeping his back turned away from the window as he leaned against a tree several yards from the main lounge. Couldn’t have four men watching movie day play out without getting suspicious, even if those two were lost in their own world.

         “Which ‘she,’ Tony? We’ve got two.”

         “Wanda. The kid’s unstoppable.”

         “I can’t tell,” Steve muttered, trying to be stealthy, “but they both look happy.”

         “No, look at Y/N. Y/N definitely made the first move. A small move, but a move.” Bucky said, casually glancing away from the window they had been taking turns looking in.

         “How can you tell?” Sam asked, both impressed and annoyed.

         “I worked as an assassin for decades, I know how to read lips. Y/N said she liked spending time with her and asked her out to dinner.” Bucky said, feeling very satisfied.

         “Damn. I owe Clint twenty bucks for that.” Sam muttered. “Didn’t think she’d gather up the courage for that.”

         Steve smirked and looked expectantly at Tony.

         “What? Do you think I carry my wallet around the complex when we’re supposed to be training?”

         “Alright, but don’t think I’ll forget about this,” Steve said before turning to his oldest friend. “Who’d you bet against, Buck?”

         Bucky smiled and shook his head. He was dealing with armatures. That Steve and Clint had won and Tony and Sam had lost was mere luck. “No one. Both of ‘em are a force to be reckoned with. And I never bet against a lady that can beat me in a fight.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this! Please let me know by leaving a kudos/comment! I love hearing from y'all and what y'all want to read next! Request on here or on tumblr @soimwritingstuff.tumblr.com!


	24. Tony Stark - A Little Abrasive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “person a is generally antagonistic, but is very calm around person b and no one knows why”

 

         “I just don’t don’t get it. I spar with them and I get two back eyes and a sprained wrist. Tony spars with them and it’s a tie? Look, I get that he’s got the suit for protection, but I think we all know they could take him no matter how many modifications he makes to it.” Sam switched the cold compress from one eye to the other, wincing as he jostled his aching wrist.

         “Maybe they think you’re tougher than him so they don’t hold back as much with you?” Steve knew it was a lie, but if it made Sam feel better, then it didn’t count.

        “Yeah, sure. I’d say they want to kill me, but it’s not just me. There’s a list of people with black eyes form sparring with them.”

         “Want me to talk to them?”

         “This isn’t middle school, Steve. I don’t need you to talk to someone for me.”

         Steve threw up his hands in surrender, just as a certain someone walked in.

         “Hey guys.” They smiled stiffly. “I, uh, I came to apologize. I didn’t realize how hard I was going when we were sparring. I’m sorry I hurt you, Sam.”

         It was a fight to keep his jaw from dropping, and he lost the battle on keeping his eyes from being blown wide open.

         Steve, also surprised, was distanced just enough from the situation - having not been injured and not being the recipient of an _extremely_ unexpected apology - to notice the stiffness in Y/N’s shoulders, the way they chewed very subtly on the inside of their cheek, and the not-so-subtle peak of spikey dark hair from the door way.

 

 

         Tony had definitely put Y/N up to this. No way would they do it on their own. Apologies weren’t their strong suit, largely because they didn’t see what they needed to apologize for. Their sparring partner got hurt during practice? It made their partner stronger, and they both probably learned something from it. A deck of cards got ruined on game night? Everyone should have agreed a long time ago that Y/N should not be encouraged to play Uno because what else were they supposed to expect when someone played a reverse card, a wild draw four card, and then a blue draw two in a row (Clint still blamed Pietro for that night)? Someone was injured on a mission? A sharp slap on the back and a ‘good job, but be faster next time,’ that was not followed up by a friendly chuckle that signalled a joke but an actual critique of performance? That was just supporting your teammate and helping them improve - coddling be damned.

         Except when Tony was the injured party, who received a personal escort to the med bay, or when he made them draw six cards in Uno and only got a death glare and a clenched jaw, or when they sparred and the worst thing that happened was he was a little sore the next day. Tony and Y/N had known each other for a long time, before the Avengers became a Thing(TM), and no one knew exactly how or what that entailed. Happy had let it slip once that they had both been protecting Tony for a while during a period of his life when Tony seemed most at risk - whether that risk was his own doing or others’ was not made clear, and Steve had not really wanted the answer.

 

 

         Glancing from Tony’s hair back to Sam, Steve was pulled back to reality. He nudged Sam’s leg with his own, because by this point it had been a solid forty-five seconds of absolute silence and the tension in the room was growing increasingly awkward.

         “Uh, yeah, I mean, thanks. I’m sure I’ll survive, but I appreciate it.”

         With a sharp nod of acceptance, signalling the end of the conversation, and a glance of acknowledgement to Steve, they turned and left the room.

         Steve waited for Sam to say something as they both watch Y/N and Tony’s figures disappear down the hallway, the sounds of their voices drifting back at them, but the words unintelligible.

         “What the hell was that? They NEVER apologize. For anything. And Tony was there? See, man, I’ve TOLD you. Something is up with those two. We all know it.” “I’m not disagreeing with you, Sam. We just need to wait for the facts.”

         “Facts my ass. They’re together.”

 

 

         “I can’t believe you made me do that. Did you see his face? He couldn’t believe it either. I told you it wasn’t a big deal. It was a learning experience.”

         “The apology was a learning experience, Y/N. Sam was definitely peeved that you tackled him like he was a Nazi.”

        “We were sparring. That’s what you do.” Your voice was deadpan. That’s what training was for. To learn from your mistakes with your teammates so you don’t get killed in the field. To find out your teammates’ weaknesses so you can protect them when the need arises.

         “You’ve never tackled me like that when we spar.”

         “That’s because I’d crack my head open on your suit.”

        “Now that’s a lie.” Tony smirked, thinking back on their friendship before he made the armour. They had tackled him many times before he became Iron Man. Weapons manufacturers, billionaires and Tech Geniuses are often the target of violent attacks, for many reasons. And Y/N was always there to knock him to the ground when the occasion arose.

         “Shut up.”

        “Make me.”

         “Oh! The clever witty Mr. Stark can only retort with ‘make me?’ My how the mighty have fallen.”

         “For you, sure.”

        “Tony! Someone will overhear that and think we’re together. Half of them already do.” You fought the heat rising to your face and the way your heart rate increased. He’d always joked like that and he always would. It didn’t mean anything.      “Oh do they?” Tony knew they all did. Knew exactly why, too, but he was going to have fun with this. Y/N had never been bothered by his teasing before, and always got him back for it. He’d pay for it later, but this would be worth it.

         “Yes.”

         “And why would they think that?”

        Silence.

         “C’mon, Y/N.” He rested his weight on your side and stopped you from walking, from escaping the conversation. “If you know what they think, then surely you’ve figured out why.”

        With a huff and grimace they admitted: “They think I’m ‘softer’ with you.”

         “Softer?”

         “Yes. Apparently, I’m… abrasive sometimes.”

         “Try most of the time, but yes. I agree.”

         “You think I treat you differently than the rest of the team?”

         “I do. Most of them have seen your rough side on the training mat and have the bruises to prove it. I, on the other hand, have never once gotten hurt by you. Except that one time you slapped me when I was drunk.”

        “Okay, first off, you deserved that. Two, I didn’t think you remembered that.”

         “Well, I don’t, but Happy and the security footage pieced it together for me. And yes, I did deserve that. But don’t do it again.”

         “Don’t grab my ass again.”

        “Only if you ask nicely.” He winked.

        “I will slap you.”

        “No, you won’t.” He looked too happy with that, and you knew there wasn’t much left you could say in your defence.

         You rolled your eyes and pushed Tony off so you could continue walking. “I don’t have favourites.”

         You both stepped into the elevator and Tony pressed the button for his floor.

         “Then why do you treat me differently?”

        “Because if I punch you like I punch the others, then I’ll break you. You’ve done enough damage to yourself without me adding to it.”

        “That’s not the truth.”

         You paused, debating if they should tell him or not, and promptly deciding that it was not the right time. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. “Well, it’s the only thing you’re going to get.” You said over your shoulder as you stepped out.

        “I’ll get the truth one day.”

         “That’s what you think, now are we going to watch movies, or not?”

        “You pop the popcorn, I’ll grab the blanket.”

         “Fine, but I’m not being the human pillow this time, you are. I was the pillow the last three times.”

         “Sure thing, _softie_.” He said with a sly grin just before darting into the hallway to grab their designated movie watching blanket from the linen closet.

         “I can throw you off the balcony.” You shouted from the kitchen, ripping off the plastic packaging around the popcorn bag.

         “But you won’t!” His sing-song answer was distant and muffled with his head stuck in the closet, digging through piles of bedding to get the right blanket.

You could still hear how happy he was, the smile evident in his voice, and it made you glad that you had practically buried the blanket the last time you put it up. It wouldn’t do for him to see you smiling so wide at something so silly.


	25. Bucky Barnes - Distance or Lack Thereof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gender Neutral Reader  
> Prompt: person a kisses person b, and when they pull back person b follows

         “Here you go.” A hand holding a to go coffee cup lowered in front of your face from behind the couch. “Hot chocolate with little marshmallows on top and a hint of peppermint.”

         You looked up at Bucky in surprise. When he’d offered to get you something from the coffee shop on his way back from running errands with Steve, you’d said ‘hot chocolate.’ You hadn’t expected him to know your favorite add ons, or to go out of his way to get them.

         “How’d you know?”  He smirked and didn’t say anything, just moved around the couch to sit next to you. He was quiet while you took your first sip and hummed in appreciation before thanking him.

         “I know lots of things.”

         When you looked up at him, he winked at you. Bucky’s flirting never failed to make you giggle and blush. He chuckled and put an arm around you, pulling you close to his side.

         “Mostly, I know how cute you are when you get all giggly ‘cause of me.”

         “Oh, shut it.” You nudged him.

         “Is that any way to treat your boyfriend?”

         “No, I suppose not. Here, let me make it up to you.”

         He leaned in and you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

         “Better?”

        “Much.”

         “I like it when you’re like this.”

         “Like what?”

         “All cute and affectionate.”

        “I’m always cute and affectionate, doll.”

         You lifted a hand to stroke his cheek, his light stubble scratching against your palm. “Yes, you are, but normally you’re a little more … subtle about it.”

        “Do you not like it?”

        “I like any and all forms of affection you throw my way. I like it when you shift so our legs press together when we sit side-by-side; I like it when you pull me close and dance with me, even when the only music is your humming; I like it when you put your arm around me when we watch movies and when you kiss the back of my hand and literally everything else you do.” You let your hand slip down so you could hold his, squeezing gently.

         Bucky was smiling brightly, looking down to hide just how happy hearing that made him feel. “I just wanted to make sure that you knew.”

         “That I know…?”

        “How much I care about you. I feel like I don’t show you just how much you mean to me.”

         “I’ve never once doubted how much you care.”

         He locked eyes with you again, his gentle smile warming you in a way hot chocolate never could.

         “I appreciate things like this, it’s sweet and cute, but I know you, and I know you care about me.”

         “I don’t just care about you, you know. It’s way more than that.”

         You definitely knew. You’d noticed the little changes since you’d first started dating. Someone else might think he was just becoming more comfortable with you, or reaching a different level of closeness, and he was, but it wasn’t just that. It was that word that neither of you were ready to say yet. It was in the way he lingered at your door when he walked you to your door after a night out, or how he breathed in deeply when you hugged, or the fact that he always called you when there was bad weather to make sure you had everything you needed so you wouldn’t have to go out in the bitter cold or pouring rain.

         You hoped that he knew that every time you said “text me so I know you got back okay,” - even though there was no way he wouldn’t make it back to his and Steve’s apartment safely - you were saying it back, every single time you hugged him tighter, squeezed his hand or his knee was a little confession that you were too nervous, too scared, not ready to put into words.

         Normally, you would tell him that he would have to use his words, because you hated trying to read between the lines. What if you were wrong? What if you read all the signs wrong? The thought petrified you, especially since with Bucky’s PTSD made communication incredibly important in a way that it had never been before. It had become second nature to ask if he was comfortable in a situation, in making it clear that you’d rather stay in with him than go out and make him uneasy, that you weren’t sacrificing anything, and if it was something you really wanted to do, you’d do it with your friends while he hung out with Steve and Sam.

         But as it was, you weren’t ready to push him, or yourself, so you would resign yourself to knowing at the moment. This was the closest either of you had gotten with words, and that was enough for now. Saying and hearing would have to wait a little longer.

         So you nodded and smiled, and whispered “I know, Bucky Bear.”

         You leaned in and kissed him gently. It was the kind of kiss that you had always imagined people were supposed to have after “I do’s” were said: soft, and sweet. It made you smile a little more, breaking the kiss. It was a recurring problem - Bucky’s kisses making you smile so much that kissing became impossible. You pulled back.

         Bucky followed, not letting much distance get in-between you. He reconnected your lips, hands travelling up your arms until they wrapped around your shoulders, pulling your body closer. One of your hands landed on his thigh, the other on his waist, gently massaging his skin.

         This time he was the one to break the kiss, but he still didn’t want to break apart from you. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed, nose rubbing against yours.

         Your torso was twisted uncomfortably in this position, and his head was heavy leaning against yours, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move for any reason.


	26. Tony Stark - A Little Less Abrasive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sequel to "A Little Abrasive" that picks up right where the first one left off

 

         The ache in your neck and shoulder woke you. You were much too hot and your body felt stiff. Shifting a little, slowly moving because of the pain, you realized you were still on the couch, using Tony’s leg as a pillow, the thick fleece blanket wrapped around you, effectively turning you into a burrito.

         You shifted from your side to your back. From the new position you could see that Tony was asleep, head tilted back and resting against a carefully arrange stack of pillows propped up on the back of the couch. Gently, you started to untangle yourself from the blanket and stood, stretching out the aches and knots from sleeping on the couch. You covered Tony’s legs with the blanket and moved into the kitchen for a glass of water, debating if you should wake him so he could go to bed, or let him sleep because the second he woke up he would want to go to the lab.

         You were leaning against the counter, sipping your water, still debating, when you heard barefooted shuffling that told you didn’t have to make that decision any more.

         “Why’d you leave?” He plucked the cup from your hand, took a sip, and replaced it before you could react.

         “Tony, you have terrific style, but your furniture is more form than function. My neck is killing me.”

“Hey, don’t knock the couch. It _functions_ well as a couch for sitting.”

“Couches should also be for laying.”

“You mean lying."

         “Oh, whatever.” You yawned. As your body relaxed from the awkward position you had been in, you were getting sleepier and sleepier.

“Okay Sleeping Beauty, let’s get you to bed.” Tony threw his arm around your shoulders and started directing you down the hallway, straight past the elevator – which you expected – then past the guest room – which you had not expected – toward his bedroom door.

         “Tony, where are we going?”

         “My room.”

         “The guest room is practically my room anyway. I think half my wardrobe is in that closet.”

         “Probably, but come on. We can turn movie night into a sleepover. We can play Truth or Dare.”

         “Tonyyyyyy.” You dragged out his name in a whine, wanting nothing more than to spread out and hog the entire bed, and not have to share at all. Sharing a couch for half the night was enough.

         “Y/N, please?” His voice was softer, more solemn that it had been three seconds earlier. If you had been more awake, and less focused on bed, then you probably would have noticed something was off about him sooner.

         You stopped walking and looked over at him. He usually had dark circles under his eyes, but they were more pronounced than usual. His chest was rising and falling more rapidly than it should for a person shuffling down the hallway in the middle of the night. Worst of all was the way he was trying to hide the panic and fear in his eyes – he was good at hiding his emotions in public, but in his home, with you, he couldn’t seem to regain control.

         When he had asked why you left the couch earlier, the answer should have been obvious: no couch is comfortable for the entire night. He hadn’t come into the kitchen because he was thirsty or because he thought you disappeared. He was scared, and he needed comfort from someone who was safe, someone who wouldn’t judge him.

         You nodded your agreement and pulled him into a hug. “I’ll always stay if you ask me.”

         He was tense, but nodded into your shoulder before pulling you through his bedroom into the bathroom. He tossed you a new toothbrush and you looked at him questioningly. “What? I always keep a few spares around.”

         “They usually don’t have my name marked on the packaging.”

         He straightened his posture. “I’m organized and prepared, like a boy scout, but cooler.” He said matter-of-factly, before you both giggled and started getting ready for bed.

         Once under the covers, the lamp still on, you turned to face Tony, but he laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

         “Bad dream again? Like the vision?” He didn’t talk about them too much, but you had gathered enough information over the course of several months to have a decent understanding of what Wanda had made him see, of what he still dreamt about.

         “Yes and no.”

         “Wanna talk about it?”

         “Yes and no.”

         You sighed. You knew he would talk if you would ask the right question, but figuring out what to ask was always hard. It was never the same question, even if it was the same nightmare, and after the last time, you had begun to worry that you couldn’t help your friend like you thought you could.

         “Was it different from last time?”

         He nodded.

         “Not as bad?”

         “Worse.”

         “Why?”

         “You were there.”

         “I wasn’t before?”

         “No, you were, but it wasn’t just you before.” His voice was still soft, and there was a tightness to it that made you ache for him.

         “And this time it was just me?”

         “Everyone else was already gone. It was just us, and then… and then they took you, too. Because I couldn’t… I messed up. Like with Ultron.”

         “Oh, Tony.” You slid closer to him and he turned into you, holding you close, trying to push back the tears. You pulled his head into the crook of your neck and stroked his hair, whispering to him that he was going to be okay, and that you weren’t going anywhere, you never would.

         You stayed like that for a long time, whispering little comforts to him. It was long enough that your butt felt numb and you had to gently lift his upper body so you could sit up against the headboard. He let you move, and, once you were in a comfortable position, rested his head against your stomach and moved your hand back to his hair so you could continue playing with it. You smiled and ran your hands through his soft hair, letting the silence take over. You could tell he was more at ease. The gentle contact was soothing him, letting him feel safe again.

You were almost convinced that he was asleep when you heard him mumble: “And you said you didn’t treat me differently.”

         It was all you could do not to sigh in defeat. Yes, you treated him differently. Very differently, because you felt very differently about him. You would vehemently deny if anyone ever mentioned it to you, or say something about how sensitive the billionaire was, but you had always known the truth. You held romantic feelings for your friend, and try as you might to not have them, it seemed that they weren’t going away.

         “Only because you’re special.”

         He hummed, and you thought he would leave it there, let the statement be open to interpretation.

         “Special how?”

         Damn.

         You shrugged, not that he could see. “You’re just you, okay?”

         He readjusted himself so he was sitting next to you, pressing his arm into yours, smiling at you.

         “I think you’re special, too.” He rested his head on your shoulder

         “I have to be special to have kept you alive for this long.”

         “Fair. But you’re special for other reasons, too.”

         “Sure.” You wanted to know what he meant, desperately, but if he told you, then you would have to tell him, and you weren’t sure you were ready for that. You weren’t sure you’d ever be ready for that.

         “I mean it.” He shifted so he was looking at you straight on, and you couldn’t avoid his eye contact without giving yourself away.

         When was certain you weren’t going to say anything else, he kept going.

         “You’re important to me. I’ve known you for a really long time, and I… there are days where I know you better than I know me, and I like those days. I like that sometimes I don’t remember which of us thought up an idea for the suit, or the tower, or whatever. I like that I don’t know who wanted to take those boxing lessons and who got dragged against their will because now it’s our thing, and I love that there are days when it doesn’t matter how many people call and want our attention because we’ll just turn off our phones and have fun together. You’re special to me because you make me feel good, because when I’m with you the world just feels... more… right. And when you’re not there, it’s, well, it’s just not right.”

         You swallowed hard. That was a lot to digest at once. You had never doubted that you were important to Tony, but to know just how much, to hear him say it like that, you felt elated and simultaneously paralyzed with fear. The next few minutes were so important in deciding what happened to your relationship.       

         “Y/N? Please don’t hate me.”

         “I could never hate you, Tony.” Your voice was soft, and you kept your eyes locked on your hands, playing with the edge of the sheet. “Especially not for saying that.” You let out a breathy chuckle and shook your head in disbelief. “I really like you. I have for a long time, longer than I’d really care to admit. To hear you say those things…” you finally looked at him again, feeling like you were handing him your heart and your soul, making yourself vulnerable “it’s more than I could have ever asked for.”

         A smile slowly spread across his face; he plucked your hand away from the sheet you were wrinkling and laced your fingers together. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

         “You needed a friend, and if that’s what I was always going to be to you, then I would have been okay with that. I was just happy that we’re so close. I didn’t expect anything else.”

         He brought your intertwined hands to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, looking up at you through his long dark eyelashes, that soft smile still on his face. It made your heart stutter in your chest because you never thought you’d see something like that. “You can have everything you want. Anything.”

         You blinked rapidly and looked down, shaking your head in disbelief.

         “Hey, come on. I’m serious. I’m yours. You’re little soft spot.”

         You chuckled and gently nudged him. With a deep breath to calm your nerves you made eye contact with him again. When you spoke your voice held all the joy you felt, but was still a whisper. “You know I’m not going to be good at all the mushy stuff, right? I’ll try, but I might not be good at it.”

         “It’s alright. I’m not good at it either, but I want to try with you.”

         You nodded enthusiastically, not trusting your voice yet.

         He smiled even wider and pulled you into his arms, maneuvering so you were lying down facing each other. He ordered the lights turned down and asked if you were comfortable. With a nod you agreed, half afraid that if you spoke you would break the spell, but mostly you were so happy that you couldn’t begin to process everything.

         A glance at the clock told you it was nearing three in the morning, and just the site of the glowing red numbers made your eyelids heavy, despite your excitement. You squinted at Tony in the dark and could tell that his were drooping as well, but he wasn’t ready to give in just yet.

         When he spoke his voice was soft and gentle; you would have never guessed that not long before he had been recovering from a nightmare. “I know you’re tired, but I just need to know something, and then we can talk more about this morning.”

         “M’kay. What is it?”

        “What are your thoughts on PDA? I mean, not like heavy kissing or anything, but like, can I hold your hand or kiss your cheek?”

         You thought for a moment. It was not something you had really considered, especially taking into account Tony’s media exposure on a near constant basis. Apparently you were thinking about it too long, because you felt him poke your cheek. You forced your eyes open and hummed.

         “Did you fall asleep on me?”

        “Uhn-uhn. Jus’ thinking.”

         “That’s alright. I don’t have to know right now. I was just sort of wondering if you were going to be more obvious that I’m your favorite? ‘Cause if Sam was freaking out over your apology, he’s going to lose his mind if you let me put my arm around your waist at the next team meeting.”

         You laughed and shook your head. “Does it count as PDA if I end up shoving you into the wall?”

         “Would you really do that to your boyfriend?”

         For what felt like the millionth time that night, your heart jumped at his words. Word. Boyfriend. You tried to play it cool. “If he ruins my street cred, then yeah.”

         “So does that mean that you aren’t as tough as you want them to think?”

         “It means that I am as tough as they think I am, but I don’t need them questioning that. Now go to sleep, boyfriend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos, and especially those who've commented. It makes a huge difference knowing that others enjoy what I write!


	27. Bucky Barnes - Side-By-Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is very concerned that the woman he loves could be hurt, and really wants to protect her, but she isn't having any of it.
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: slight angst/disagreement?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The request was: "Bucky Barnes (im a sucker for him omgg) uhh say him and a female avenger reader got into an argument about going on missions bc he doesnt want her to get hurt then trying to make it up to her later?"
> 
> I took some liberties with it, because if she is an avenger then he knows she's tough as nails and can handle herself.

         “They don’t want either of you, they want me.”

         “Well, they can’t have you.”

         “They aren’t really asking, Doll.”

         “I don’t care.” You squared your shoulders and widened your stance to show that you meant business.

         “Y/N, he’s right. This is going to get dangerous.” Steve looked at you, his face softening a little because he knew exactly what you were feeling.

         “And the last year and half wasn’t? I get that this is different; I’m not an idiot, but I’m also not going to sit back and watch whatever happens happen.”

         “I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

         “But you’ll throw Steve to the wolves?”

         “It’s not like that. He’s got that serum. He’s a little less breakable than you.”

         “I’m not a glass vase, James.”

         Upon hearing his friend’s given name, Steve started backing out of the room, despite Bucky’s desperate look begging for help. He knew the coming conversation did not need to include him.

         Bucky waited until he had left the room (abandoned him) before he took a deep breath and finally looked at your face again.

         “I know you’re strong, and I know what you can do, but… Y/N, if the worst happens, I couldn’t live with myself.” Worry creased his forehead and he searched your face carefully for your reaction, hoping you understood, needing you to.

         You stepped closer and took his hands in yours. You looked down and the way your fingers intertwined automatically.

         “If the worst happens, it wouldn’t be your fault. A good number of things that happen to me have nothing to do with you.”

         “Even if that were true, it wouldn’t make it okay.”

         You squeezed his fingers. “I know what I’m signing up for. I’ll even sign a waiver form if you want.”

         He managed to offer you a watery smile, but the sadness and worry were still in his eyes. He shook his head gently. “I know you do, but I can’t let you do this. Not for me.”

         “Is the issue that I’m doing it, or that it’s for you?”

         “Yes.”

         “Bucky,” your voice was soft and laced with sadness, “I love that you care enough to worry about me, but you can’t stop me from fighting this with you. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that they can’t ever get you again. And I can’t make a promise like that and then sit in the compound, or hang out with Shuri in Wakanda, or some dingy safe house while you and Steve are out there risking everything.” You took a deep shaky breath, your eyes watering and stinging. “Don’t make me watch this happen.”

         He let go of your hands and pulled you into him, his arms wrapping strongly around your shoulders, his hand coming up to press your face gently into shoulder, letting you rest your weight on him so that he was doing most of the work to keep you upright. He stroked your hair and rubbed your back and whispered to you.

         “It’s alright. I’m here. It’s going to be okay, I promise. Everything’s going to be fine and in a couple years we’ll be babysitting Steve’s kids and praying they took more after their other parent.”

         You hugged his waist and closed your eyes tightly, but it didn’t stop the hot tears that leaked out and onto his neck. You hugged him tighter because you were angry at yourself for crying. You were supposed to be strong for him during this, not the other way around, but there was nothing you could do about the tears, or the anger, or the fear, or the helplessness that you felt.

         “It’s okay. Let it out. I’m here. I’m here for you.”

         His soft words were finally starting to break through and calm you a little, even if it was only temporary and you knew that you’d be crying again as soon as you were alone. You sniffed and leaned back enough to look up at his face. He looked sad, but smiled anyway to show that everything was going to be fine, even though neither of you could promise that would be.

         “I’m here for you, too, Bucky.”

         “I know, Doll.”

         “Then let me be.”

         There was silence for a moment, and you thought he might be trying to tell you no again, but he looked down and hummed. It was the soft sound that a person makes when they know they should say something but don’t know what.

         “I don’t deserve you.”

         “I don’t deserve you either.”

         He pressed his forehead against yours and rubbed your noses together, making you giggle. You stood like that for another moment, enjoying each other’s closeness, before he pulled away from you and crossed his arms.

         “You realize we’re going to be totally off the grid, right? Squatting and camping, and no one knowing where we are or that we’re alive and safe?”

         “I’m aware.”

         “And you’re willing to do that to your family and friends again?”

         You paused. After the UN bombing you had taken off with Steve, and gone completely radio silent. Your family had been worried sick. But Tony owed you a favor, and you could convince him to feed your parents little things to keep them satisfied that you were on a long term undercover mission. You’d give them a call before you left this time.

         “I’ve got that sorted out. Reminding me about all the worst parts of last time isn’t going to change my mind. I can’t make my family more upset with me. Most of my friends are either in the avengers or they think I’m international criminal and want nothing to do with me. I hate camping with a passion, but it’s not as bad as knowing that you’re out there and I can’t help you. There’s nothing you can say that’s going to make me want to stay behind.”

 

 

 

         He sighed, shoulders slumping a little bit. He knew it was a desperate play, and that it wouldn’t work, but he had to try. The thought of you putting yourself in harms way for him didn’t sit well. He didn’t like Steve doing it either, but at least Steve had science making him more resilient than average.

         Bucky had seen you fight. You were the best sniper he’d ever met. You refused to say your number of confirmed kills, but it was definitely higher than his had been in the war, and he was an excellent shot. In hand to hand combat you were a force to be reckoned with: you could take down enemies twice your size with minimal effort, using their own momentum and weight against them, dodging hits until they were so exhausted from swinging and missing that you could take them down with a few precise blows.

         Bucky had also seen you injured. Outnumbered and overpowered. He’d seen you with a gun pressed to your head as you yelled for him and Steve to keep running, and with a broken leg, hiding behind piles of debris as men shot at you. In the back seat of a getaway car, trying not scream from the pain as he pressed down on your stomach to keep you from bleeding out.

         The images flashed through his mind. He’d never been the cause of any of those missions, but it had torn him up inside to see you like that. For him to be the reason you were in one of those situations would be … unthinkable. When your relationship started, he had made a promise to keep you safe, that nothing from his past would come back and hurt you, no matter what else it cost him.

         “Stop over-thinking it, Buck. I know where that brain of yours is going. We’ve both made promises we can’t keep. But there is one that we can. Side-by-side, remember?”

 

 

 

_“Do you, James, take Y/N as your wedded wife, and promise to love, honor, and cherish her? To remain faithful, forsaking all others, and remain with her, side-by-side, for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”_

_“I do.”_

_Sam turned to you._

_“Do you, Y/N, take James as your wedded husband, and promise to love, honor, and cherish him? To remain faithful, forsaking all others, and remain with him, side-by-side, for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”_

_“I do.”_

_“Then by the power vested in me by Online Ordaining, and T’Challa, King of Wakanda, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”_

 

 

 

         You had skipped the rings part. He couldn’t wear one on his left hand anyway, and you wearing one on missions could get dangerous. Sam had called you silly for adding in “side-by-side” when it was a little redundant. Bucky had been fooling around, doing mock vows as you tried to convince Steve to just let you elope, and it had slipped in there. You had teased him for it, but Bucky had liked the sound of it and kept putting his arm around you so he could whisper it in your ear, so you asked Sam to put it in.

         Bucky grinned at you, and hooked his left ring finger with yours, curling them together like kids do in a pinky promise. “Side-by-side.”


	28. Peter Parker - Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by a lovely anon “Female reader stealing Peter’s clothes and they swallow her whole”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this like they were post high school, bc there isn’t a situation where I can imagine high schoolers wearing each others clothes (excluding jackets/hoodies) except one that that I already wrote (Movies, Cuddles, and Kisses - it's not in this collection, but it is on AO3 so you can find it in my list of works if you want!) but I wanted to do something different.

         “Why don’t you stay here? It’s late. I don’t really like the idea of you walking home at this time of night.”

         Truth be told, you weren’t fond of it either, but you weren’t sure that your relationship was at that level yet. You thought it through. If you stuck to the couch then it would be fine. Right?

         “No pressure, I’ll call you an uber if you’re not comfortable. I just want you to be safe.”

         You locked eyes with him. His brow was slightly furrowed in concern, but you weren’t sure if it was more about your comfort or your safety. He was such a sweetheart, and once you looked at his face, you weren’t sure why you had worried in the first place.

         You smiled and nodded. “Okay. If you sure I won’t be imposing.”

         “Are you kidding? My girlfriend couldn’t possibly impose!” He leaned in and kissed you gently, lingering a little, not really wanting to stop, before fully pulling back and jumping up excitedly. “How about I grab you some of my sweats to sleep in and we can watch the Food Network and HGTV until we’re sleepy?”

         “That sounds perfect.”

         “Great!”

         He hurried out of the room and you leaned back onto the couch. You couldn’t believe your luck with finding Peter, with getting to date him, with him caring about you in the same way you cared for him.

        

 

 

         Peter dug through his dresser drawers, looking for a pair of sweat pants that weren’t raggedy beyond belief. He was of the opinion that the older the sweats were, the more comfortable they became, so most of his had seen better days, or had holes in them. It usually wasn’t an issue because he never wore them in public. Only Ned and May knew how bad they looked, and neither of them cared (well, May tried to tell him to buy new ones, but she mostly did it out of parental obligation - she held the same opinion about old sweats).

         He finally reached a pair in the back of the drawer that he had not worn as much as the others because he wasn’t fond of the odd shade of red. After a quick inspection to make sure there were no holes, he refolded them neatly and set about finding a shirt.

         That was a bit easier. Most of his t-shirts were in acceptable enough condition that he could wear them in public without issue. There were plenty of options, so he took a moment to pause an consider if there was any reason she would prefer one over the other. Softness counted for certain. Probably short sleeves for sleeping since he had plenty of warm blankets. Big and baggy was usually good, right? He’d recently started opting for slightly less baggy clothes since he didn’t have to hide his muscles at school anymore, so while there were lots of t-shirts, not as many were what he would call ‘baggy.’

         A white shirt peaked out at him and he couldn’t immediately identify it without being able to see the graphic on it. He pulled it out and was smacked in the face with memories.

         It was the “I survived my trip to NYC” shirt with the cartoon taxi cab that Mr. Stark had bought after taking away his suit. After he messed up. After he nearly killed a ferry full of people and let the bad guy get away. After he made everything a million times worse than it had been before.

         He took a moment to breathe deeply and remember that he had caught the guy, that he hadn’t needed Mr. Stark’s suit, that he had protected tech that none of his high-dollar security measures could. And that he’d been fifteen at the time, still practically a child, early in his superhero-ing days. Not that he was that much older at this point, but he had certainly learned a lot in the past few years. There was a sharp learning curve for people in spandex.

         He didn’t remember deciding to keep the shirt, but if it was going to hang around, then he wanted to attach it to better memories. Seeing her in it would definitely be better than the last time he’d worn it. He sniffed it quickly to make sure it didn’t smell musty from having been folded up for so long. Deciding that it still smelled very faintly like May’s laundry detergent, he deemed it okay and put it with the pants.

         It took him all of thirty seconds to find his own pajamas and change into them. Being responsible, and wanting to make sure she didn’t his room in a messy state, he made sure his clothes made it into the hamper. He grabbed a pair of socks, just in case her feet got cold like his did, and went back to the living room.

 

 

 

        

         “Sorry that took so long. I hope these are okay. If not, then feel free to root around until you find something comfy.”

         “These are … “ You trailed off when you got a closer look at his shirt. You didn’t think New Yorkers owned stupid tourist shirts, even ironically. You looked up at him, confused. “Are you going to explain the shirt?”

        He chuckled. “My clothes were… ruined. A friend had to go get me something to wear and this was the best option at the time.”

         “It sounds like there’s a lot more to that story that you aren’t telling me.”

         “It’s long and a bit…not fun.”

         You threw up your hands. “No pressure. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” You stood, clothes in hand. “Thank you, Peter.”

         As you walked past him to go change you gave him a small pack on the cheek. You knew that he loved those. They always made him blush, especially when you gave them in public.

 

 

 

 

         Peter let himself fall onto the couch, head floating a little from the gentle show of affection. He still didn’t know why such a small gesture meant so much to him, or why it made his heart feel so _full_ , but he enjoyed it too much to put much effort into figuring it out. Telling himself that her kisses were magic was easier, and probably a bit closer to the truth. How else could he explain the way he felt dazed after making out with you? Or how his heart skipped when you kissed his jawline? Or how your touch, the small ones like holding hands, or resting your hand on his arm, made him melt? Or that when cuddling with you on the couch it always seemed that there was nothing that could possibly be so amazing and comforting? Your kisses were magic because you were magic, and that’s all there was to it.

         He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear you come back into the room. Movement out of the corner of his eye was what alerted him to your presence.

         Once his eyes were on her, she spun around. It was a silly outfit, that objectively was not attractive as a clothing combination. The red pants with the odd tint of gold in them were not cut to flatter anyone with the ankle cuffs and the useless shallow pockets that made the side seams stick out awkwardly. The pants were made for someone with longer legs, so they bunched around the cuffs. The shirt hung on her, hiding her figure completely. The graphic was almost worse than he remembered now that he saw on someone else, rather than in the mirror.

         But.

         But seeing her in his stupid baggy clothes made his heart stutter. Her grin as she posed like she was on the catwalk during Fashion Week made him laugh and his felt light, like there was no reason to worry about not being on patrol that night. The dramatic, over exaggerated swing of her hips as she walked closer to him made had him wondering what he would do without her in his life.

        

 

 

 

         “So, how do I look?“ You sat next to him and put your legs across his lap, leaning against the arm rest.

         “Beautiful.”

         You missed the breathless way he spoke, and the genuine amazement in his eyes. You barked out a laugh and shook your head.

         “I don’t know if you’re full of shit or the sweetest man alive, Peter Parker.”

         “I’m just honest. I think you made my heart stop.”

         His words caught you off guard. The thought that you could do that to him when just about everything about him took your breath away was hard to wrap your mind around.

         He didn’t give you a chance to fully process the information he’d just thrown at you. His arms slipped around your waist and, with a twist, he repositioned the two of you so you were lying down on the couch, pressed close to each other.

         The position, his words, the way he was looking at you as if you were the only thing that mattered, it was too much. You felt your face heat up, and you pressed your lips into a line to hide the big goofy grin trying to take over.

         He noticed and laughed, moving so he could kiss you, a firm, long kiss that had you breathing hard when you broke apart.

         Balancing his weight on one arm, he reached up and cupped your cheek, stroking it with his thumb. His eyes wandered your face like he wanted to take in every detail, so you took the opportunity to do the same to him.

         “You’re beyond beautiful, but I don’t know what word is strong enough to convey that.”

         This time, instead of trying to hide how giddy and happy he made you, you smiled wide. Your eyes lit up and your chest felt like it would burst from joy. Any words you tried to say were caught in your throat. You wanted to tell him how handsome he was, and how he was perfect inside and out, and that he made you feel like the luckiest person alive because he chose to be with you. But since those words weren’t coming out you had to do something else.

         You kissed him. It was probably your hundredth kiss of the night - it was hard not to kiss him when it made you feel like you were on a cloud - but this one felt different. Normally your kisses punctuated something that had already been said. This one had to replace it.

         Your hands cradled his face. He melted into you and let you lead, but kept his body mostly lifted off of yours until you nudged him down with your leg. The contact immediately intensified the kiss, and you traced his lips with your tongue. He let you in and moaned softly. One of your hands moved to the nape his neck, your fingers playing with the soft short hairs, and keeping him close. The soft touch eased the kiss into a laziness that took him by surprise and relaxed him. His hand dropped from your cheek to your waist and rested lightly, waiting for your signal to break apart or keep going before he let it wander anywhere else.

         You pulled back reluctantly, and he looked at you with hazy eyes. You smiled softly at him and he returned it before resting his head in the crook of your neck. You had finally made him speechless.

         “I think you’re perfect.” You whispered, not wanting to break the peace of the moment.

         You felt him smile against your skin. “Then I guess we’re the prefect couple, because you’re perfect, too.”

         You giggled and tilted so you could press a kiss to the top is his head, your mind blank of everything except how wonderful and blissful and utterly _perfect_ the moment was, and how you hoped that, one day, you might be able to spend every night like this.


	29. Peter Parker - Library Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Ned ended up going to college in different states, but they are catching up on what they missed over Fall Break, based on the prompt: person a has been wearing headphones and missed the announcement that the library was closing, person b intentionally got locked in because they can actually get work done and “What do you mean we’re stuck here til morning!?” Requested w/ a woman reader by a lovely Anon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how my college’s main library operated, but mine also has about a dozen libraries and understands how crazy it’s students get since research is the main focus, so most probably aren’t like this.

         “Wait, how are you already friends with a junior?” Ned asked, pausing Peter’s flow.

         Peter shrugged. “It’s always good to make friends with older classmates, you know. They know stuff you don’t… Like that you won’t get in trouble for being in the library after it closed.”

         “You got locked in the library? How does Spider-man get locked in the library?”

         “I don’t know? I had my headphones on. How was I supposed to know that they don’t clear the floors before locking up?”

         Ned shook his head in mock (or maybe not-so-mock) disappointment. “So, you’re friends with a junior who kept you from being arrested?”

         “Uh, yeah. We were in the same corner of the library, sharing a table, and I was blasting my music, writing my PoliSci essay-“

         “Which means you were watching late night tv show clips on YouTube.”

         “Obviously. Next thing I know, I look up and it’s only the two of us anywhere that I can see. I check the clock and it’s two in the morning!”

         “What time did the library close?”

         “Midnight.”

         “Damn.”

         “Yeah. So I’m freaking out a little, and she sorta noticed.”

        

 

 

_You glanced up at the increasingly frantic guy sitting across from you. Pausing your music and removing an earbud, you said, as gently as you could: “Excuse me, are you alright?”_

_“The library closed two hours ago.”_

_“Yeah.” You nodded._

_“We’re locked in here.”_

_“You didn’t do it on purpose?”_

_“No! What - you can’t - What?”_

_Oh, first years. So sweet and naive. “Yeah, a lot of people do that when they’ve got a ton of stuff to get done or a looming deadline or something. The librarians don’t really care as long as we don’t mess stuff up, besides, this place is eight floors of stacks, plus study rooms and nooks, and bathrooms. They couldn’t really clear this place if they wanted to.”_

_He started looking a little less wild eyed and a little more calm._

_“So we’re stuck here til morning?”_

_“I mean, you could call campus security, but they get really cranky about it, and the Chancellor’s Office will end up issuing a statement about how we shouldn’t do this because technically it’s not allowed and it’s not healthy and all that.”_

_He nodded as he processed the information. First years were adorable._

_“Hey, you hungry? I always bring a ton of food.” You dug around in one of your bags. “I’ve got Cheese-itz-“ you plopped down an entire box “-and some granola bars - “ you tossed a few bars one by one onto the table “-and some M &M’s-“ out came a resealable bag of M&M’s “-last but not least, a box of pop tarts!” You pulled out the only slightly squished box triumphantly. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”_

_“Peter.”_

_“Nice to meet you, Peter. Come on, dig in. You were here when I got here, you’ve got to be hungry.” You tossed him a pop tart._

_“Oh, thanks.”_

 

        

 

         “You just freaked out and she gave you food?”

         “I’m telling you, everyone is really nice here.”

         “So you got her number, right?”

        “Yeah, she gave it to me so we could study together, and we just sort of ended up hanging out a lot. Invited me to grab dinner with her friends and stuff.”

         “Can you introduce me?”

         “You don’t even go to school in the same state?”

        “So?”

         “Find someone at your own school. I’m not gunna be THAT guy.”

         “Oh, ‘cause you’re trying to get with Y/N? I get it. Gotta play it cool.”

         “…Something like that.”

         “You really like her, don’t you?”

         “Yeah. She’s great.”

 

 

 

         _The sun was starting to peak through the windows. There was still a couple hours before the library opened, and you hadn’t gotten nearly as much done as you had planned. You’d spent so much time laughing with Peter that you had completely forgotten about your assignments. In the back of your mind you panicked a little, but you would just grab a coffee on your way back to your place and settle in again to get work done. You were having too much fun._

 

 

 

         “I’m telling you, I met the cutest guy in the library during midterms. He’s a first year, but once you get past the wide-eyed ‘I don’t know how the campus library stuff works’ then he’s really great.”

         “He’s a dork like you, isn’t he?” Your best friend smirked and raised an eyebrow at you.

         “We’re both geeks, actually.”

         “So, yes?”

         “Yes.”

         “Well, sit down and tell me more about him. We’ve only got a short break before you go back to school and have to woo the pants off of him.”

**Author's Note:**

> Also will be posted on tumblr @soimwritingstuff, with drabble prompts list if you want to request one.


End file.
